The Guardian
by AnimaTempli101
Summary: This is not the story you're looking for, please move along whilst it rots in unending hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

**The Guardian**

**Chapter 1: The Beginning **

The ship made no sound as it sped through the vacuum of space. None on the outside anyway. Inside practically everywhere but the drive core was filled with noise, the crew arguing about what to do, runners bringing messages to Captain Dawkins, the mess officers bellowing for service and of course the sounds of the hundreds of human colonists. Husbands talking to wives, wives yelling at husbands, children screaming as they dashed through the halls and corridors of gleaming silver, their young minds afire with the prospect of colony life.

The MSV Valiant was a colony ship, its mission was to safely transport the 1200 colonists through the Terminus Systems, known infamously as the badlands of the galaxy, known for pirates, slavers and other such hostile threats, and then to drop them off on Secora IX, where they would establish a new colony, a place where they and their families could build new lives for themselves, away from the grime of Omega and Earth or the bureaucracy of the Citadel, the seat of The Galactic Council.

Its skipper, Captain Edward Dawkins, veteran of The First Contact War and colony runner of more than half a decade's experience, sat upon the padded leather of the command chair and stared out of the observation windows, gazing at the great black void before him. Though his body seemed to be at rest his mind was working overtime. He was constantly aware that their current location, the Remus System, although less dangerous than the rest of the Terminus Systems, was no safe haven. The Valiant was no ship of war, only possessing the cheapest kinetic shielding and a few forward cannons, more suited to clearing through asteroid belts than combat. Over and over he asked himself why he'd taken the assignment for Secora IX, considering the neighbourhood, but then he remembered the 300,000 Credits, held by Volus bankers on the Citadel, waiting for him and the pallid complexion of Martin, his son. With that money he could get him some proper treatment, not that free stuff they handed out at the clinic.

But first he had to get there, shaking himself slightly he turned to his helmsman, Chris Hartigan. He and Hartigan had been shipmates aboard the SSV Edinburgh during the First Contact War, Hartigan an ensign and he a forward gunner. When they'd demobbed at the end of the war and he'd gone into colonist transport Hartigan had been his first choice as helmsman.

"How long till we reach Secora Chris?" he asked, his voice, coloured by his Scottish accent, echoing slightly off the walls of the control deck.

"A few more days." the helmsman replied, his friendship with captain overruling the demands of protocol. "Right now I'm taking her slowly, don't want to strain the engines should we need them later, plus the reduced engine use should make us harder to find."

"Good idea." Dawkins replied, confident in his friend's decision.

"However I am a bit worried about going through this system, most reports about Remus talk about how its sun is dangerous, with its high quantities of solar flares and the like. If we're not careful-" he began to finish but Dawkins cut him off.

"Don't worry Chris, the Valiant is a good ship and if our predictions are correct we'll be long gone before the next batch of solar flares start up."

"Aye, aye." came the unusually formal reply.

Casting away the questions he had over Chris' tone Dawkins pressed a button on the right armrest of his chair and spoke into the intercom.

* * *

><p>"Ethan?" a young woman, her blonde hair drawn back from her pale-skinned face in a high ponytail, called out, trying to be heard over the cacophony of noise in one of the commons. "Ethan where are you?"<p>

"Ethan?" an all together deeper voice, belonging to a tall, thick set, man with a tanned face and short dark hair, boomed out from beside her "Where are you my boy?"

The two split apart, threading their way through the crowd of excited colonists who were oblivious to their plight. The man moved through the crowd less easily than his slightly-built wife but eventually he reached an empty bench. Standing upon it he cupped his hand to his mouth and once again called for his son.

"Ethan? Come on out, we're not mad. We just want to-"

His speech was interrupted by the feeling of something pulling persistently at the fabric of his brown leggings. Looking down he gazed at a young child, blue eyes wide, clutching a model of an Alliance frigate and smiling widely, as if nothing was wrong in the galaxy.

"There you are!" his father exclaimed and, with one muscled arm he plucked the boy, who squealed with happiness, from the ground and hoisted him onto his right shoulder. The boy loved the rush of adrenaline the sudden movement caused and he loved being able to stare down at people below him. Soon however he forgot the fact he was up high and again became entranced by his small model which he pretended he was captain of, speeding through the space lanes, laying waste to his enemies. He didn't really notice as his mother came running over.

"He's alright Clara." his father explained "He was just playing with his spaceship."

"He still frightened me half to death, Duncan." his mother exclaimed, slightly out of breath. "Sometime's I think he's more interested in that ship than anything else. And your stories do little else than encourage him. I worry that-"

"Peace, love, peace." His father interrupted, setting Ethan down to which he protested slightly before again getting lost in his battle against five imaginary Turian dreadnoughts. Keeping one foot infront of his son to prevent any escape attempt Duncan Farrows pulled his wife into a warm embrace and whispered in her ear, whilst he ran his hand along her golden locks of hair. "It's okay, all lads his age are interested in space; the battles, the adventure, the excitement. Eventually he'll calm down and he'll meet a nice girl, build a home and have kids of his own. All below the skies, not above them."

"You make it sound so easy." Clara replied, exhaling slightly at the thought.

"Do I?" Duncan asked "Well then, I must have forgot to mention the rebellious teenage years, full of drinking, stim-taking and womanising."

"Don't ruin the moment." Clara replied, whacking her husband lightly across the back of the head.#

Laughing Donald let go of his wife and, once again picking up his young son, led his family over to one of the mess tables. Leaving momentarily he came back with three trays of food, one balanced elegantly of his forearm. Setting them down he dug in, shovelling the fragrantly spiced meat into his mouth whilst Clara tried, at the moment in vain, to get Ethan to eat some vegetables. But the young lad held a tough resistance against the dreaded green matter. So much so that eventually Clara turned, exasperated, to him.

"Can you do something?" she asked, an expression that was half plaintive, half annoyed plastered across her face.

"Ethan." he said, using his best authoritative tone, his voice becoming deeper and slightly harder "Obey your mother."

Ethan turned to his father and, with typical youthful exuberance and disregard for the current discussion, pointed at a long scar, which stood out bone white against the tanned brown skin of the forearm.

"Where'd you get that one daddy?" he asked, his eyes afire with inquisitiveness.

"Ethan," his mother replied, rolling her eyes, "You've heard it a dozen times."

"It's fine." Duncan replied "Alright Ethan, if you eat your greens I'll tell you the story." In literally seconds the vegetables had been devoured and now Ethan's head rested upon his palms, his elbows on the silver table-top, waiting for the story.

"Very well," Duncan said, chuckling slightly at his son's voracious appetite. "It was two years before you were born and humanity was taking its first faltering steps into the galaxy. When a human exploration team reactivated a mass relay, Relay 314, we violated Citadel Law. A nearby Turian squadron noticed the team and opened fire. And so began the First Contact War. I was a marine, under the command of a young captain called Tadius Ahern. We were sent to retrieve a data capsule or some such thing, we got to it and were taking it back to our ship, a brand new Corvette with the best shielding, fine lines and it packed a punch like an angry Krogan, when we were attacked." Ethan gave a little gasp as his father threw himself slightly towards him "Dozens of Turian mercs. Ahern sent me to go get the Corvette whilst he and the others set up on a small plateau. I scrambled down the back of that plateau and started running towards the ship. However this one Turian, he'd seen me running and his commander had sent him after me. He jumps out at me as I round a small hillock and unloads a pistol round into my thigh. I grabbed his gun and threw it away, he grabbed mine and threw it away and so we were both without guns in the middle of nowhere. Then he pulls out this knife, fifteen centimetres long and serrated, like a Varren's teeth. He swings it at me and it breaks through my armour. Lays open my arm, right to the bone but it gets stuck in there. As he tries to pull it out I smack him one across the face, cracking his face plate. He falls back and I break his leg. As I move off to go get the shuttle he calls out to me, begging to have his knife back. He said it was a ceremonial item of his people and that he just had to keep it. Even now the reason escapes me but I grab, tear it out of my arm and throw it to the ground. Then I rush to the Corvette, fire it up and pick up the rest of my squad. Those Turians ran for the hills when they saw me coming with 20 disruptor missiles loaded!" He smiled slightly at the memory but then his face became serious.

"But you listen to me Ethan, I may have fought Turians, I may have killed Turians but I never HATED them. Hate of an entire species is a stupid as it is damaging, you hear me?" He waited for a minute for a response, before tapping his son's head. "Ethan?" then he turned to his wife, a warm smile on his face "He's asleep."

"He always loves your stories Duncan. They send him to sleep with dreams of you standing against huge armies and winning without so much as a scratch."

"True, but he never stays awake to here the best bit."

"The best bit?"

"Yeh," Duncan replied, wrapping an arm round his wife's waist. "The bit where I met a brilliant and beautiful nurse, who eventually agreed to make me the most lucky man in the galaxy."

"You old softy," Clara replied, her laughter ringing clear and clean "Come on, let's get sleepy-head over there back to the cabin. Then we'll see how 'lucky' you think you are."

"Well, well." Duncan answered, his eyebrows raised "How can I refuse such an offer?"

With that he got up and swept his sleeping child into his arms, who snuggled deeper into his grasp, his ears taking in the sound of his father's heartbeat. Without any haste mother, father and child made their way towards the door that led to the section they were sleeping in for the voyage. Before they got there however Captain Dawkins' voice came over the intercom speakers.

"Good evening everybody, this is Captain Dawkins. I understand many of you will just be about to bunk down for the night but I'd just like to inform you all that we are on schedule and we should reach Secora IX in approximately 3 days. That is all and may you all have a good night's rest."

The intercom clicked off and immediately all conversation in the commons turned to the announcement.

"Well that's good news anyway." Duncan said as he and his wife walked through the hallways. Ethan was thankfully still asleep.

"Yeh, within a few days we'll touch down on Secora IX. There we can finally get some peace. Ethan won't have to fight like we both did, he'll live a peaceful life."

"God willing." was Duncan's only reply as entered their sleeping quarters.

Setting Ethan down in his bed in the second room and kissing him tenderly on the forehead Duncan let his son dream away. Leaving his son to sleep he engaged the locks on the both sets of doors, interior and exterior, as well as the sound-proofing system, a MUST-HAVE for all couples according to the brochure, before finally turning to his wife, who drew him into an embrace.

"Now then," she said with a twinkle in her eye "Where were we?"

* * *

><p>When they awoke it was to the sound of an alarm and people in panic. Immediately Duncan's mindset switched from that of a colonist to an Alliance Marine.<p>

_"Alright Duncan think! The first thing to be done is,"_ He looked down _"Get dressed."_

Throwing on a pair of trousers and a black shirt he refocussed his mind whilst behind him Clara was busy dressing.

"_First thing to do is identify the threat. Talk to the crew? No, too busy combatting whatever this is. Ask the other colonists? Hell no! They're probably scared out the wits and they'll probably know as much about what's going on as a Varren does table manners."_ Then an idea hit him.

"Clara come on! We need to find a comm console!"

"What about Ethan?" she challenged him, moving to the door that led to their son's room.

Immediately becoming a father again at the mention of his son's name, though the marine modus opperandi remained at the back of his mind. Immediately he unlocked the door to Ethan's room and stormed in, sweeping the boy, who was oddly not troubled by the sudden influx of loud noise, into his arms. Grabbing his attention Duncan spoke to his son in a tone he hadn't used since he de-mobbed at the end of the war. A tone of urgency.

"Ethan listen to me. Mummy and I are just going to find out what's going on okay? We'll be back soon I swear to you, then I'll tell you every story I know okay?"

"With sound effects?" Ethan asked, still blissfully unaware in his childish innocence.

"Yes with sound effects." his father replied, kissing him on the forehead, as did his mother, before putting him back on his bed and rushing out the door, taking Clara with him.

Spinning around he locked the door and soundproofed it. Then he raised his forearm and the orange holographic display of his Omni-Tool appeared. His fingers danced across his Omni-Tool, bypassing firewalls until finally, after using all the skills he possessed, he hacked into the ship's systems and began re-routing power what little power he could to the door's locking mechanism. As auxiliary clamps locked down on the door he breathed a sigh of relief and turned away, moving towards the door.

He didn't get far. Spinning him around Clara glared at him. "What the hell Duncan?" she demanded, her maternal instincts overriding her powers of deduction "What the fucking hell?"

"I sealed the door. Nothing less than me or a shipwide electrical failure would open it now."

"But why? Why did you-" her husband cut her off

"Clara think. This ship is in danger. Either it's under attack in which case I don't want anybody getting to Ethan. If there's trouble with the ship itself then at least he's somewhere familiar while we figure out what's to be done. You with me?"

Clara stood still for but a moment, her mind taking in all that her husband had just told her. She'd never regretted leaving the Alliance Military, she'd wanted to get away from the hectic lifestyle and now she was right back in the middle of a crisis. But she knew what had to be done.

"I'm with you." She said, nodding her head, her composure restored.

"Then let's go!" and with that they sped from the room, looking for a communication console.

* * *

><p><em>A few minutes earlier...<em>

Captain Dawkins was once again sat in the command chair, having just returned from his evening meal in the Captain's Quarters. As he often did at times like these he took a moment to relax and think back on all he had seen. He remembered his Drill Sergeant yelling at him in basic training, calling him a maggot and other such things, charming bloke. He saw again the tired and haunted faces of the garrison as the Edinburgh pulled them out of Shanxi, the only human defeat to an alien fleet. He saw again the explosions that racked a Turian frigate above Shanxi after a broadside from the Edinburgh, sounding its death knell. He saw his wife, tired and worn out by the traditional labor she had requested, handing him the squirming pink form of his son, who tightly gripped his finger with one pudgy hand. He saw again the Valiant, gleaming in the docking lights. Then he saw the long nights bent over datapads, which detailed the sorry state of affairs their finances were in. He saw the REJECTED symbol on his loan requests. He saw his son fall to the ground in a coughing fit, his forehead afire with heat.

Suddenly an alarmed cry from Chris jerked him out of his reverie.

"We've got solar flares erupting all over the star captain!" Dawkins had never heard Chris sound as scared as he did now, not even when they'd stared down a Turian cruiser's forward cannons. Looking through the viewing window he saw tendrils of star matter burst from the surface of the huge star at the system's centre, heading straight for them.

"Evasive manoeuvres!" he yelled and Chris began punching in directions into his screen but only a few seconds past before he turned back to his captain and friend.

"We can't evade it sir, that wave of solar energy is too big!"

"Impact in ten," a visibly terrified ensign "Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two." Everyone on the command deck closed their eyes and waited "One."

The huge wave of solar matter and radiation hit the Valiant full on the starboard side. It easily cut through the kinetic barriers of the aged cruiser with ease. It nearly completely overloaded the ship's electronics, bringing down safeguards, the resulting explosions down on engineering ripped great chunks of the ship's hull out, the unfortunates working there getting pulled into the dread vacuum of space before the emergency shielding came online. Red warning lights flashed across Chris' control panel as multiple systems went offline.

"Damage report!" Dawkins yelled to anybody who would respond. When the wave had hit the resulting overload had killed the ensign who had be counting down as his console exploded in his face, fragments of metal and glass embedding themselves in soft flesh.

"Critical failures across nearly all systems, re-routing power to artificial gravity and Life Support. Catastrophic damage to lower decks, emergency shielding online where possible, emergency bulkheads dropped where not. Current casualties stand at...forty seven. All crew, no colonists.

"Prognosis?" Dawkins asked, momentarily stunned by the catastrophic endured by his ship in barely seconds.

"We can't keep going like this, we've got to find somewhere to land."

"Saheros, class 3 Planet, Off our starboard bow." an ensign called out from her scanner readings.

"Inhabited?" Dawkins asked

"No, but able to support life. Nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere. 1.1 G surface gravity. However deemed unfit for colonisation by surveyors due to inability to support anything above village level population for any long period of time without extensive terraforming."

"What do you think Chris? Dawkins asked the helmsman.

"At current damage levels it's our only hope."

"Lay in a course, once we hit planetside we'll set up a beacon and wait for rescue."

"Aye aye."

The next report however, turned everybody on the command deck's blood to ice.

"Second wave of star matter incoming!"

The second wave hit the crippled ship with as much force as the first. Consoles exploded, all the lights went dark save for emergency floor lighting, from the few working security consoles Dawkins could see the now awakened colonists rushing about in panic and confusion.

"Status!" he nearly screamed at his crew. But glancing around he could see that, apart from Chris, all his crew were dead.

"The last wave took out all but a few consoles sir!" Chris yelled out. "We've lost all shields, bulkheads dropped on decks 20 through 11. Casualty rate climbing."

"Are we still on course dammit!"

"Aye sir..." what Chris said next came out so quietly that Dawkins barely heard it above the noise of panic and destruction. "We've lost engine control. I won't be able to control the descent."

The words hit Dawkins like a body blow. They were going to hit that planet full speed with no shields whatsoever. He didn't even know if they'd survive re-entry in this state. He felt again like he was aboard the Edinburgh, watching the Turian frigate go down. The frigate's captain must have felt like he did now: powerless. "Ab...abandon ship." were the only words that came out of his mouth.

"Aye aye." Chris answered, but at that point a warning came up on his screen from one of the few engineers left alive. Scarcely believing what he was seeing he span his seat round to face his captain. "All escape pods inoperable! Their electronics are completely shot to hell!"

The news completely toppled Dawkins' previously iron-clad self control. His face grew wet with tears and he held his head in his hands, groaning at his impending death. There would be no treatment for Martin, no meal waiting for him when he got home, nothing. His wife would wait for months before the Citadel Bureaucracy finally declared him dead and released his tiny Alliance pension.

"Hello?" came an unfamiliar voice from one of the remaining Comm speakers. "Is anybody still alive up there?"

Considering the state of his friend Chris took the call. "This is Helmsman Christopher Hartigan, who is this? You're no crewman."

"Corporal Duncan Farrows, ex-marine, 10th Frontier Division, 3rd Brigade, 14th Infantry Regiment. Now what the hell is going on?"

"We..." Chris paused for a moment, considering the lie "are suffering electrical problems. Be calm, everything will be rectified in-"

"Cut the bullshit. What's really wrong?" Duncan interrupted, knowing the stock lines all too well.

"We got hit by massive amounts of stellar energy, we've suffered massive damage and I can't control the ship. I'm sorry sir, I'm so, so sorry but all I can say is to pray to whatever god you believe in and hope for a miracle."

"I see..." Even though distorted by the aged comm system Chris could hear the despondency in the man's voice. "Very well. Good luck and Godspeed."

As he signed off Chris heard movement behind him. Turning in his chair he saw Dawkins stand up from his seat, a pistol in his right hand, his eyes staring unseeing in front of him.

"No Ed!" he cried, his arm shooting towards his friend, but he was too late. Before he could do anything the man he had served most of his adult life with places the pistol's muzzle against his right temple. The gunshot echoed through the empty command deck. Chris could only watch in horror as the bloody body fell back into the command chair, a twisted parody of life. Sealing off his grief, he turned back to his console, which flashed crimson with warning signs as the shape of Saheros became ever closer.

Several decks below the chaos on the bridge, whilst all around him people panicked, wept and prayed, a small boy slept in his bed. He slept whilst his parents struggled against the tide of colonists in the corridors, trying desperately to get to him. He slept whilst above him Chris Hartigan tried to re-establish control of the propulsion systems. But with all but a few of the engineers dead or incapacitated his efforts were in vain. He slept whilst the ship hit the atmosphere of Saheros, the mettle glowing red with the heat of re-entry. He awoke only briefly when the ship slammed into the planet's surface, the metal buckling and shattering on impact, the breaking into pieces, but then he slammed into the wall of the room and was knocked out cold. He slept whilst his father died as a wall panel exploded next to him. He slept as his mother was crushed by a falling girder, trying to save his father from the cold hand of death. He slept whilst Chris Hartigan was slammed through the forward observation window and crushed beneath the contents of the bridge.

Ethan Farrows slept whilst thirteen hundred and seventy six people, colonists and crew, died.

* * *

><p>Slowly light returned to the young boy's eyes. His deep blue eyes, ringed by his beautiful blonde eyelashes, fluttered open. At first all he saw were shapes, but then focus returned and he saw his room in perfect clarity. He was on the ceiling. Or to be correct his room had been flipped upside down. He gazed up at his bed, which was still bolted down above him. He sat up, casting his eyes about him for his frigate. With childlike dismay he realised he couldn't see it and so he went in search of someone who did.<p>

As he stood however, white lights danced across his vision and his head throbbed incessantly. Stumbling forward, tears in his eyes and one hand to the back of his head, he moved towards the door. From beneath the bottom edge, which hung halfway along its runners, bright lights shone.

Scrambling beneath it he was greeted by a terrible sight. He saw twisted piles of metal, from within fires danced. He saw people lying still, like puppets with their strings cut. His pudgy arms pumping he ran over to a person who lay upon the ground, which had been scorched black by the fires unleashed when the ship's drive core exploded, sending pieces of the ship flying all across a wide expanse of land. The land itself was beautiful, though he would not see it yet. Great expanses of rainforest, streams flowing with cool clear water and to the north, great hills with slopes of long green grass. The land surrounding the young boy had been like that, till it was devastated by the ship's fire.

Running over to the prostrate figure he fell to his knees beside them.

"Excuse me," he began, using his best manners as his mother had always told him to. He got no response "Excuse me!" he said again, pushing the corpse slightly, unaware that the person was dead.

"This one does not believe the figure you are talking to will answer, child." Said a beautiful, serene, flowing voice behind him.

Turning around Ethan was first confronted by a set of long tentacles, which he followed upwards, where they terminated in a large, translucent, body. He remembered what he was looking at from on of the vids he'd watched with his father. It was a Hanar.

"Why won't he answer?" he asked, his voice curious.

"This one says he will not reply to your entreaties due to the fact that he is..." the Hanar stopped for a moment, considering how to address so young a creature "dead."

"But then how can he tell me where Mommy and Daddy are?"

"This one has scanned this planet several times, this one is deeply saddened to inform you that there are no other survivors. Only you remain." and with that the Hanar turned and began to move away from the boy.

"But...but..." Ethan began, his face made wet by tears "Who will look after me?"

At that the Hanar paused. Many thoughts went through its head as it 'stood' there, the young human child beginning to wail sorrowfully behind it, calling for its deceased parents. Eventually it turned back to face the young boy.

"This one has an idea." it began, choosing its words more carefully than usual "This one shall take care of you. This one shall train you in all the ways this one knows and in the return you shall obey it in all its instructions. Do you agree?"

The child glanced around. Then, with a sad sigh as he came to terms with what had befallen him, he looked up at the Hanar. "Okay."

"This one is glad to hear it, now if you would follow this one, this will show you to where we shall live."

As the Hanar moved off Ethan scrambled to his feet and fell into step beside the Hanar who would train him in everything he knew. Looking up he asked one final question.

"My name is Ethan, what is yours?"

The Hanar stopped for a moment. "Until this one is ready...Ethan" the child had freely given his name so it seemed better to use it "To tell you its name, you shall call it 'Master' as a term of respect." with that it moved off again, heading into the rainforest that surrounded the crash site.

"Okay," Ethan said, falling back into step beside the Hanar "Master."

And so began Ethan's journey. A journey that would take him into battle against the greatest threat to life in the galaxy, and into the company of the galaxy's only hope.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Training**

_20 years later_

The only sounds in the small training area was the wind parting in front of the fists of the young man, who was dressed in naught but a pair of home-made trousers, the sound of his breath escaping in small exhalations, the gravel shifting beneath his bare feet. And the occasional instructions of his Hanar master.

"Panther." came the soft, serene voice and immediately the young man's fighting style changed. The outer two knuckles of his fingers and his thumbs bent inwards, forming half fists. He then began a series of lighting fast punches, the ridge of knuckles striking at the throats, the ribs, the joints and nerve centers of his imaginary opponents. Mixed into this the young man threw in palm strikes and low kicks, designed to cripple an opponent by breaking their legs or the fragile bones of their feet.

"Boxing." came the voice of the elderly Hanar once again.

And once again the young man's fighting style changed. Abandoning the wide stance he had favoured earlier he drew his feet together and became constantly in motion, almost dancing on the balls of his feet. Then his hands, now bunched into fists, shot out at speed, pummelling his phantom opponent's stomach, chest and face. First he began with a series of quick strikes, hitting at a near constant rate, then he began to slow down, adding more power rather than speed. All the while he kept light on his feet, occasionally dodging some imaginary blow of his enemy's.

"T'Shoak." his master instructed, his voice never losing its composure as he gazed upon his student.

In response to his master's command the young man began the fluid leg sweeps and high kicks of the Asari martial tradition. His body was constantly in movement, bending and changing like the water in a stream. At points both of his feet left the ground and he balanced upon his hands.

"As you wish." came the usual final command for his unarmed combat training.

The young man flipped back up from a particularly elaborate kick, one foot planted at the throat of his enemy, the other at its solar plexus whilst all he balanced on was one hand, which dug into the gravel of the yard. Regaining sure footing he began using his own personal style. In it he used all the possible striking techniques he knew, incorporating his fists, palm strikes, heel strikes, his elbows, his knees and his legs. The style itself was aggressive, even in defence he used a block or a dodge as a springboard for a renewed assault, but it was not wild. Each move was surgical, precise, designed to inflict maximum damage on the opponent with as little energy wasted as possible. Eventually the youth's master called an end to the unarmed practice.

"This one suggests you take a few moments Ethan and then begin your weapons training."

"Yes master." the youth said, bowing at the waist to his teacher.

He then walked over to the side of the training yard, which was an interior courtyard to the dwelling he shared with his master. There he took a sip of water from one of the canteens he had put out on a low table. Though he refused to show it he was heavily fatigued. Sweat sheeted his body, dripped from his hair, which hung to three quarters of the way down his neck, and ran down the chiseled muscles of his back, over the tattoo that had been inked into his flesh years ago, as part of a trial of mental and physical strength.

The tattoo itself was huge, spanning his entire back. The design itself was a massive pattern of thick black lines, which ran up from his waist, intertwining and mingling with one another as they went, up over the muscles of his back and over his shoulders, down both sides of his arms until they fused and tapered just short of his wrists. At the centre of his back some of the lines also fused into a perfect circle of black ink, whilst others wound upwards around them and in this circle was a line of script, written not in a differed ink but in Ethan's bare flesh. He'd examined it many times but even with the knowledge granted to him by years of study between training he still didn't know what it meant. It had taken his master three whole days to complete the tattooing process and throughout that seemingly endless period he had not flinched, had not groaned, nothing. His master had been impressed.

The warning that it was time to begin again came as a sibilant hissing in the air. Spinning round, his canteen falling forgotten to the floor, Ethan reached out with his right hand and caught the hilt of his blade. He did it so precisely that it seemed that it had almost flown from the three tentacles his master had used to throw it to his hand.

The sword itself was three feet long, including the hilt. During the months before its creation Ethan had been told to study all the styles of blades that were present on the small data console he had been given, powered by a small generator that his master maintained. He had read up on Asari Shia knives, Turian Rackantha blades, Krogan Daknor axes and even Drell Shuhei swords but the style he had chosen from that vast collection of data was an ancient Earth weapon: a Kopis, used by the Ancient Greeks as a slashing weapon.

Upon reaching his decision and informing his master of his choice, at which point he found out that his master had had a private bet with himself predicting that he would choose a Kopis, he was led to a small shack in the forests that surrounded their abode, which was built on a peninsula of rock which jutted out into the crystal clear water of one of the seas of the planet. There, under step-by-step instructions of minute detail, he had forged his blade, using an alloy formed of Palladium, Titanium, Platinum and Iridium. He had spent days without rest heating the metal, cleansing it of impurities which would weaken it, folding and re-folding it until, at last, after five days of near-constant work he beheld the finished blade. At that moment he was sent away by his master, who would ornament and fit the blade himself.

Two nights later he was awoken by his master and bidden to shave, wash and to clothe himself in his finest garments, a set of white robes. Then, as rain poured down onto him, soaking his robes and his skin beneath, and lightning split the sky, he knelt on the hard gravel of the training courtyard and bowed before his master, who spoke words of blessing over him. As he brought his head and upper body back up he was presented with his sword.

It was magnificent. The curved blade, which had been a dull grey when he had left in the hut, shimmered silver in the lightning's flash. The hilt was the typical hook style, but lengthened to allow for two-handed use if needed. It had been carved of Varren ivory and bound with black leather. The scabbard was of heartwood, taken from the very heart of one of the great trees which reared above the treeline of the forest canopy. It was again wrapped in black leather and embellished with golden stitching. The buckle which would attach it to a belt were of the same alloy of the blade, blacked to fit in with the leather. For all the years afterwards Ethan had cleaned, maintained and practiced with it daily.

Now he swung it through the air, privately revelling in the keening sound that the sword, already warmed by his touch, made as it scythed through the air. Immediately he leapt to the attack, slight through imaginary foes, diving and rolling through the air, following up with forehand and backhand slashes through throats, wrists, stomachs and spines. Occasionally he would switch his grip, using a backhanded grip for short, quick strikes and thrusts or a two-handed grip for powerful strikes that focussed the entire power stored within the lean muscles of his arms and back.

His master, watching from the side, was almost entranced at what he beheld. The sword was not merely a weapon to his student, it was more an extension of his arm. As his student's pace increased the display seemed almost like a dance but he knew there was more to it. It possessed a primal element that, although beautiful, was lethal. Each move was a kill, or a springboard to one. He knew in his mind that his student's technique was almost perfect, he could kill anything that threatened him at close quarters but alas that was not all that battle was. And so he called an end to the penultimate part of the day's training. Using three of his tentacles he hurled the scabbard he had fashioned to his student, who caught it expertly and slid the blade into it, making sure the blade was secure within it, before placing it upon the low table at the far end of the hall.

Gliding over to a panel on the wall he pressed a button, just as his student picked up his training pistols. Immediately primitive hologram projectors purred into operation, causing images of various combatants, armed with guns to appear. As the audio system supplied the sounds of weapons cocking Ethan began.

Spinning on his heels he used his hands independently, sighting on two targets; a Batarian and a Krogan. Using his years of anatomical study he placed the artificial shots at the weak points of his targets, namely the right between the four eyes of the Batarian and back of the throat of the Krogan, which would neatly sever both sets of nervous systems.

Rolling under a hail of holographic gunfire he moved lithely to his feet, taking out an opponent to his right and front, his guns firing at right angles to each other. Sliding one leg forward and bending his other knee, so that he threw of the aim of his holographic assailants, he switched targets and focussed on two figures who had just been brought into holographic existence. Shooting the first, a human, through the knee he caused the second, a Salarian, to dissipate as the weak laser foccused at the multiple places across its upper torso. Extending his right arm left and his left arms right he put down the two holograms that threatened his flanks. Then the audio system activated behind him and, without even looking but rather letting his sense of hearing guide his hands, took out his final opponents.

As the holographic projector wound down the sound that came from his master was another set of instructions, despite the pleased beginning of the sentence.

"This one is very pleased with you Ethan. Now this one instructs you to wash up and spend your time meditating or reading, whilst this one decides what is to be done."

"What is to be done about what master?" Ethan asked, between large gulps of air which stung the back of his dry throat slightly.

"This one will tell you when this one is ready. Now either spend your time reading or meditating." And with that Ethan's master span round and moved off.

Above the sound of his bare feet on the gravel as he walked towards his equipment table Ethan almost didn't hear the SNICK of another button being pressed. But he did hear the whirring as a heavy automatic mass accelerator cannon span into life. Dropping the two practice pistols he span round. Instantly his eyes fixed upon the rotating barrels which had appeared from behind a wall panel. Blue energy spread across his limbs as his biotic powers, earned after exposure to Element Zero during development in the womb according to his master though his parents had never mentioned it, if they'd even known, and amplified using an Asari-made biotic amp which was embedded in his brain, activated.

As the cannon fired he threw his biotics forward, forming a barrier of blue energy between him and the live fire coming at him. The barrier wavered for a second but he reinforced it, the iridescent light flowing across the tattoo and into the barrier. He grimly held on, fresh sweat dripped from his brow as heavy caliber round punched into the barrier at near point-blank range. In the face of the unending wave of death coming at him he desperately tried to think of options. Multiple plans occurred to him but he discarded them until finally he settled on one.

Summoning all the biotic power he could, Ethan smiled slightly before launching all his accumulated power and the power that formed the barrier forward. It smashed into the heavy cannon, crushing the metal beyond recognition and flinging its remains against the back of the alcove it had come from, spelling an end to the danger it posed.

"That," he exclaimed whilst he tried to regain some breath. "was a dirty trick Master."

"This one is sorry for the deception," his master called from the upper balcony "But it was necessary to reinforce the message that it has always told you: "Expect the unexpected and the devious. The galaxy is not the training room." Now you may go and rest."

* * *

><p>A few minutes later Ethan entered the room that had served as his living quarters for the past two decades. It was of a reasonable size, 10 feet by 12, and within it was all his possessions: his blade, his clothes, a desk of worn wood with a chair of the same material, his bed, a terminal that he used to study history, philosophy, biology and rudimentary first aid, a target for when he was bored and decided to play darts with a few knives, and a few sheets of parchment, made from Varren hide, and an ink well with quill. Although everything written used an electronic medium his master had advised him to take up calligraphy, due to both its calming effects on the mind and its strengthening effect on the wrist.<p>

Moving to a clear spot he began the series of movements his master had taught him years ago to sooth tired muscles and ease his mind. Slowly he performed the Reg'Hanar, all the while mentally going over what he had learned throughout his long years of study under his master.

He scanned through his knowledge of first aid, even though he knew that Medi-Gel healed relatively all wounds there was always a possibility you may not have any. Quickly he shot through how to plug bullet wounds, stop bleeding, splint broken bones, identify internal bleeding. The next thing on his mind as his body moved into evermore graceful shapes, which he could feel draining the fatigue from his limbs, was philosophy. Mentally he recited the works of the ancient Terran philosophers, Plato, Aristotle, Socrates and the Asari philosophers T'Lara, Vasern and T'Kara as well as the others he knew of. His personal favourite was Machiavelli, a Terran philosopher of mid-second millennium. He enjoyed his ideas on politics and leadership and he had personally transcribed his Art of War and Il Principe onto parchment for no other reason than he wanted to.

Finally, as he moved onto the final stages of the Reg'Hanar, he skipped over his biological knowledge, which amounted to where to strike various species to kill quickly, and moved onto Galactic History.

Quickly he mentally reeled off lists of dates and names such as The First Contact War, which he faintly remembered being told about when he was young, the formation of The Systems Alliance, the Salvation of the Drell, The Morning War, the Krogan Rebellions, The Rachni Wars, The Formation of The Citadel Council. Then he turned to Pre-Council history he continued mentally reviewing his knowledge until he finally came upon the subject that formed the main part of his historical education: The Protheans and their destruction.

"The Protheans are an extinct alien race which mysteriously vanished over 50,000 years ago." Ethan mentally recited. "The only known space-faring species of their time, the Protheans arose from a single planet and developed an immense galaxy-wide empire. Not much is known about them, but many of their artifacts, ruins and technology, including the Mass Relays and The Citadel have apparently survived the ages.

As to their destruction, many theories try to explain their total annihilation. Some historians believe the Protheans destroyed themselves through a huge and utterly destructive civil war. Others say that they died from a disease that not even they could protect themselves against. A popular theory is that they died out due to overpopulation, similar to what almost happened to the Drell but on a galactic scale. And then there was the theory nobody wants to believe, but that had persisted through the ages.

The Reapers. A highly developed race of sentient machines who reside in Dark Space until, every 50,000 years, they return and cull the galaxy of sentient life. It's absolute lunacy, might as well call them the wrath of an angry god. But then again, Master believes in them, and he has never seemed a simple or whimsical being. Hell, he even only believes in The Enkindlers due to it being better to believe and be wrong than to not believe and be wrong."

Ethan couldn't help it but, against the scholastic nature of his mind which demanded proof, something niggled in the back of his mind, saying there might be something to this Reaper idea.

Jolting himself into full consciousness Ethan finished the last movements of the Reg'Hanar, sliding his left foot slowly back across the floor to its position beside his right and letting his arms fall back to his sides. Casting aside the upper cover on his bed he flopped down upon it and closed his eyes, trying to get a few moments rest before his master summoned him again.

* * *

><p><em>He is standing upon a desert world, the sand beneath his feet the same burnt orange as the sky. Before him lies a great sand dune, towering above him, taller than even the trees that grow deep in the forests of his home. He doesn't know why but he knows he must climb it.<em>

_The climb is hard, he stumbles on the shifting sand. But he rights himself and continues on, each step displacing more and more burnt orange sand, which trickles down behind him. Finally he reaches the top of the dune, his legs strangely do not feel fatigued, despite the climb._

_He stares down from his vantage point and his eyes alight on a verdant oasis. Crystal clear water glimmers in the sunlight at the center of it whilst all around figures relax and play. He sees Humans, Salarians, Asari, Turians, Hanar, Batarians, Elcor, Volus, Quarians, Krogan and even Vorcha totally at ease. Young ones play in the water, their shrieks of joy carrying to him._

_"Ethan!" a young woman with long blonde hair, standing at the oasis' edge, calls to him, a powerfully built man beside her. He feels he knows the pair but he cannot place it._

_"Come on!" the man calls, waving him over. He feels joy at their presence; brilliant, boundless joy. Unbidden his legs move forward, taking him down the slope towards the pair._

_He only gets a few steps and then the world turns dark. He looks up and in the sky their sits a huge dark shape, filling the sky from horizon to horizon. Then a beam of lights flashes from the darkness at lays waste to the oasis. The shrieks of joy turn to shrieks of pain. Bodies of every species and every age lie upon the ground, burnt beyond all recognition. The trees and grasses surrounding the now boiling water turn to ash and still the pair of humans keep smiling and waving him over, oblivious to the destruction behind them._

_The beam fires again, heading straight for the pair..._

* * *

><p>"NO!" Ethan screamed, throwing himself upright. A cold sweat covered his body, evidence of the nightmare he had just experienced.<p>

Swinging his legs he sat upon his mattress, his head in his hands, trying to make sense of the nightmare. It had seemed so real, so vivid. And those pair of humans who had called to him, who were they? Why had his subconscious mind created them? And as to that dark shape-

His thoughts were derailed by the presence of his master at his door. Immediately he dropped to the floor, his forehead resting upon the wooden boards.

"Ethan," the Hanar intoned, its voice carrying a subtle mixture of confusion and concern. "This one wishes to ascertain your current mental and physical status. It was on its way to talk to you when it heard you cry out. Are you alright?"

"Yes Master," Ethan replied, keeping his head bowed "Simply a bad dream."

"This one does not remember its instructions supplying sleeping as an option." the Hanar reproached his relatively young student.

"Indeed you did not Master."

"Then why is it that you were sleeping, for how else could you have been dreaming?"

"The need for such a rest were too great master, for no man can fight beyond his means, no matter how eager."

Unseen to Ethan his master nodded slightly, recognising the words of the ancient Terran poet Homer. "This one finds such an excuse acceptable. Now as you are awake this one believes it is time to inform you of the final part of your training."

"Final part, master?" the young man asked, incredulously, raising his head to look at his teacher.

"Indeed. This one has one final task for you to complete. In the hills to the west there is an old ruin. You are to travel there, armed with only your wits, and make camp for the night. When dawn arrives you will return and tell me of your journey. You have until dawn tomorrow to pack and make ready for the trial ahead."

The next morning, as the sun just broke over the horizon to the east, its first rays spreading over the glistening waters of the sea, Ethan stood at the threshold of the house he had lived in for around two decades. From the threshold he could see his objective faintly in the distance, the hills towering above the treeline in a hazy undulating pattern. Stepping onto the the dusty track, had formed in the surrounding thin grass by his passage over many years, he turned and bowed to his master, who bowed in return, kneeling forward slightly on his tentacles.

Then he picked up his pack, which contained his tinder and flint, a small tent and the miscellania that aided in its construction, bare rations and a length of rope, and swung it across his broad shoulders. He carried no weapons and had given his word to his master not to use his biotics against anything that might threaten him, to survive the test he could use only his mind and whatever he could fashion himself.

And so, taking a deep breath, Ethan started out on his final test. Standing just within the doorway his master watched him go. He jogged down the winding path that led down the peninsula to the mainland, he jogged past the clearly where he would sit and simply listen, in order to develop and improve his hearing, and past other places he would use for training before finally his form was lost within the towering trees, the vines, the bushes and the shadows of the forest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: The Final Test**

Ethan trudged through the dense undergrowth, keeping on a constant line to the west. All around him the sounds of the rainforest could be heard: the chirping of various insects, the wind gusting through the fern leaves, the gurgle of the water in the streams. But Ethan wasn't concerned about those. Mentally blocking them out he scanned his surroundings constantly, eyes darting left and right, his ears trying to pick up the sound of a predator before he saw it.

The forest might seem idyllic, with its vibrant combination of green grasses, ferns and trees, contrasted with the stunning reds, yellows, purples and oranges of the flowers, all beneath an azure sky and a warm sun but Ethan knew its true nature. The forest was a killing ground, a natural battlefield. The flowers, with their oh so pretty petals, were more as likely to spit poison than smell nice. The trees that towered in grandeur above the forest floor were actually killing the plants beneath, depriving them of the nutrients and sunlight that they needed and the shadows they cast? Although cool and a good place to rest weary muscles Ethan knew all too well they were the favoured hiding spots of Varren and other such things that wouldn't pass up a tasty meal of human flesh.

As he walked he remembered how six years ago, just after the day he'd decided was his eighteenth birthday, he'd been walking in the forest, to get some root or some such thing his master wanted to show him the uses of. It was just past midday and the forest was swelteringly hot, the sun blazing down in a sky devoid of clouds. Having acquired the root he was making his way back to the house on the peninsula, but the son was so damn hot, like a furnace in the sky. So, setting down his pack, he laid against the trunk of an old and wizened tree and fell asleep.

When he awoke it was to the sound of growling. His eyes flying open and surging to his feet he had found himself face to face with a Varren, a big one. It had been at least thirteen feet long, head to tail, with a hide as dark as night and eyes as red as blood. Opening its cavernous mouth it had roared at him, displaying a huge array of fangs, the two primary ones around as long as carving knives and just as sharp. Slowly the two had circled one another, each never breaking eye contact with the other.

The Varren made the first move, pouncing straight at him, mouth open in a roar of bestial fury. Diving to the side he just managed to avoid grim death, the Varren's putrid breath wafting by him, seeping into his nostrils, a stench of meat and decay. Straightening up his hand had flown to his side, drawing a survival knife, ten inches long and wickedly sharp, and holding it reversed. The light filtering down through the gaps in the forest's foliage had glinted on the blade, grabbing the Varren's attention. Remembering all his training from his master Ethan had positioned himself directly in front of the Varren, which was pacing around him, growling and snarling. Then he had closed his eyes and the whole world had receded. The only sounds had been of his breathing and the Varren breathing. Without his eyes to guide him he had tracked the Varren using only his ears and then he had heard it, the perfect moment of stillness, the calm before the storm. The Varren leapt and he had leapt forward to meet it.

His blade had sliced in through the Varren's open teeth, slicing across one side of its jaw and then exiting, raking along its head until finally it scythed into its right eye. The Varren had howled as the globe burst, spurting red blood and pieces of matter across his right arm, staining the handmade shirt all the way to the elbow. Then, with a sound that was half terrifying and half pitiful, the Varren had surged forward, bowling him over and laying open his right bicep with it claws in three parallel lines. And then it was gone, howling into the undergrowth.

Shaking his head and cursing himself for a fool for slipping into his memories and thus putting himself at risk Ethan refocused his mind and forced himself to stay alert. His master would've had his hide if he'd seen that lapse, or a Varren would've. Casting aside such thoughts he moved on.

Hours later, as the sun finally dipped below the horizon and darkness began to descend, Ethan decided to make camp and, looking around at his surroundings he started thinking tactically.

"River to my back, ten and a half feet wide, fast flowing. It's impossible to ford due to current and I'd hear something trying to leap it. Open perimeter, roughly seven meters in diameter, allows for construction, fire pit, the works. Why not? Won't find a better place than this in a while."

And so he got to work. He emptied his pack on the ground, examining the contents. Then he took the tubing that would form the skeleton of his shelter and put it together, driving the foundation pieces into the soft soil and building upwards. Then he draped the waterproof covering over it, securing it in place with lengths of twine. Stepping back he admired his handiwork, the shelter was just as wide as he was tall with three solid walls and one that had a decent sized opening, allowing for easy access and exit. Then he took several good-sized stones from the riverbank and arranged them in a circle, thus preventing the fire he would start within that circle from spreading and burning the surrounding ground.

Content with his work Ethan turned his back to the river and went in search of firewood. His search for kindling went well and he soon had a sizeable amount of sticks and twigs clenched under one arm. As he searched for other, larger, pieces of wood that would serve as fuel for the fire for hours Ethan found himself thinking that acquiring a weapon of some sort was probably a good idea. He was painfully aware of the absence of his sword and the two old pistols his master let him use for live ammo.

After a few minutes searching Ethan found what he needed. A towering tree, which stretched upward into the sky, seeking ever more sunlight, with a deep rich brown colour to its timber. Walking around it he found a branch, ten feet long and practically as straight as possible.

Positioning himself next to the trunk Ethan exhaled, twisting his neck. Then, blue witchfire spreading down his arms, he took his stance. In one quick motion he brought his hand down in a vicious chop. Bolstered by biotic energy the strike clove through the wood, close to the trunk, with the ease of a hot knife through butter. The branch crashed to the ground, severed from the system that had sustained it.

Picking the branch and his pile of firewood Ethan made his way back to his camp. When he got there he picked up his small box of tinder, strips of dried bark and fluff, soaked in flammable liquid and then dried, and half emptied it into the center of the circle of stones. Then he took his flint and struck it against a stone, causing sparks to fly into the air, glowing brightly then fading into nothing. Striking the flint again he watched as the sparks landed on the tinder. Gently he blew on the tinder, adding more oxygen to fuel the fire. Slowly the sparks began to grow into small flames. Carefully he added the smallest and thinnest of the kindling, watching as the fire caught on those as well. Then he added more sizable pieces of wood, all the while taking care not to smother the flames, thus depriving them of oxygen. Soon he had a sizeable fire going, providing heat in the cold night air.

Content with his fire Ethan turned to the branch he had taken from the great tree. Taking his flint once more he used its edge as a means to cut and shape the tip of the wood. Slowly the wood was reformed into a crude spear-tip. Taking it to the river he plunged the spear tip into the water and held it there for a moment. Then he drew it back out, the water droplets turning a glowing orange as they reflected the light of the fire. Taking it to the fire he thrust it into the hot charcoal at its base. Slowly the heat drove the moisture from the wood, hardening the spear tip. Finally satisfied with his work Ethan withdrew the spear from the fire and plunged it into the soft soil. Then, gathering a small blanket around himself he fell asleep, drifting into the dark bliss of a well-earned rest.

* * *

><p>The next day he struck camp and traveled ever onwards, using the butt of his new spear as a walking stick. It took him many hours, and thankfully no beasts of the forest gave him trouble him, save for the Pyjaks, which got under his feet at the worst times, but eventually he reached the destination that had been given to him by his master. As he crested a hill his deep blue eyes took in the sight, a sight that took his breath away.<p>

What he saw was the great corpse of the MSV Valiant. Twisted and broken metal lay everywhere, only partially reclaimed by the planet's vegetation. The ground, once scorched black by the crash, was only just recovering, a small stubble of verdant grass growing. Vines twisted around the remains of the sundered ship, which had once carried the hopes and dreams of so many. The years of exposure to the pitiless elements had discolored the once shining metal, turning it a rusted, black color but on one huge piece of the destroyed hull, in flaking paint, was the name: Valiant.

Slowly he made his way through the veritable forest of black, rusted metal which had once gleamed in the light of suns all across the galaxy. As he walked through the spires of broken ship he kept on having this nagging feeling that he'd been here before. He felt almost as if he could hear the chatter of people at work or the shrieks of children at play. Despite the noonday heat he felt his skin grow cold and goose flesh rise on his arms. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as decaying metal creaked and shuddered under its own weight. Despite the evident amount of time it had lain here Ethan could still faintly smell the chemical odors of fuel and disinfectant, harsh compared to the natural smells of the planet's forests and coasts.

He rounded a corner and beheld a sight that surprised and confused him in equal measures. Two mounds of stones lay side-by-side, roughly seven feet long and three feet wide. As he approached them he caught sight of a metal box lying between them, oddly unsullied by exposure to the elements.

"_Must've been put there recently."_ Ethan deduced, moving towards it. _"But who by?"_ Slowly he opened the lid. _"What the?"_ Inside the box was a rolled up scroll of Varren parchment, sealed with a small length of twine. Opening it his eyes read the flowing handwriting of his master.

_Ethan,_

_If you are reading this then you have reached the destination this one instructed you to reach. Having done so this one finds it prudent to inform you about your origins. From what I could recover from the "black box" server from the ship that lies broken around you your full name is Ethan Lee Farrows. You were born on Terran date 22__nd__ August, 2159. When you were four years old you and your parents were on board the Colony Ship MSV Valiant. Due to an unprecedented release of solar radiation the ship was damaged catastrophically. It crashed onto our planet Saheros. The casualties were total, except for you. The graves next to you contain the bodies of your mother and father, Duncan and Clara Farrows. This one identified them using a DNA scanner a few days after this one took you under its wing and buried them here. It took this one much work to complete its work but this one felt it owed them some dignity. Rest here for the night, meditate and this one will see you when you return._

_Your master_

Ethan was sent reeling, the scroll dropping from unfeeling fingers. His parents, his history, his full name, all had been simply dropped on him. He now knew everything that had been taken from him. Everything he had lost. It all made sense, the feelings he had experienced as he walked through the wreckage hadn't been feelings but memories, long since repressed or buried under the wealth of knowledge, both martial and academic, that he possessed. Emotions churned within him: sorrow at what he had lost, rage at his master for not telling him earlier and a strange feeling of completion, of final realization. Kneeling down before the twin graves his words came out in a hushed, halting whisper.

"Mom…Dad…I never knew you but I want….I want you to know…that I will always be grateful for…for you saving me. I…want you to know that I will never…ever…forget the two of you, despite the small of the time we spent together."

He stayed kneeling, searching internally through his memories. He stayed in that position as the sun dropped from its zenith. He stayed there, his knees pressing into the dark soil of Seheros as the sun slowly dropped below the horizon and the multitude of stars began to shine in the sable sky. The air grew cold but even though dressed in only a thin shirt of homespun fabric and trousers of the same fabric, he did not flinch or shiver. He was awake the entire time and despite his deep mental activity he did not fail to hear the sounds of the night, the wind whistling through the trees, the creaking of the old, blackened metal.

"I know you're there." He said, getting to his feet and turning around. In the gathering darkness his gaze was met by one glowing, blood red eye.

The Varren that he had last fought so many years ago stood before him, its spines quivering in the night air. Even from twenty meters away Ethan could smell its fetid breath once more, snaking into his nostrils. As the Varren opened its mouth, displaying its teeth, which shone like steel in the pale moonlight, Ethan bent down, his gaze never dropping from the Varren's. With one steady hand he gripped the wooden spear he had made. Then, now armed against his opponent, he took a broad stance between the graves of his parents, ready for combat, ready to kill. Ready to die.

As before the Varren made the first move, barreling forward, saliva dripping from its maw. And Ethan charged to meet it, twirling the spear in his hands as he ran. They collided, the right forepaw swiping at Ethan's throat. Leaping to the right Ethan narrowly avoided grim death, feeling the air part in front of the Varren's claws. Twirling the spear he struck the Varren across its shoulder blades, causing it to buckle slightly. It recovered, swiping again with its claws, this time aiming for Ethan's legs, forcing him to leap backwards.

As he made his move the Varren pounced, its jaw open, ready once more to tear his throat out and feast upon his flesh. Ethan tried to move away but the Varren was too quick. It slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. As he struggled before the Varren's weight he threw his head to the side, narrowly dodging the Varren's fangs, which would've taken out his throat if they had connected but which instead closed only upon solid ground. Spitting out a clod of soil the Varren drew back its great head; all the while Ethan was scrabbling, trying desperately to grab onto the spear he had dropped. The Varren lunged again, just as Ethan's right hand curled around the haft of the spear. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Ethan swung the spear across his body in a vein attempt to protect his throat.

_CRACK!_

The Varren's teeth closed upon the spear shaft, the immense power of its jaws snapping the wood like dry kindling. But to Ethan's good luck shards of wood ripped into the soft lining of its mouth and the back of its throat. Writhing in pain the Varren eased the pressure on Ethan's body slightly, which was all he needed. Bunching his legs underneath the Varren's torso Ethan heaved, using all his strength. The Varren was launched off him, sent rolling in the dirt.

Leaping to his feet, Ethan stared at the two pieces of splintered wood in his hands, one of which still retained its sharp, killing, point. Hefting the blunt piece he launched it at the Varren, all it did though was make it angrier as the piece of wood rebounded harmlessly off its forehead. A deep, throaty growl emanating from its maw the Varren lowered its head and scraped its back-leg against the ground before finally charging forward, primal fury burning like the sun in its one remaining blood-red eye.

Time seemed to slow for Ethan and that moment, he could see the world in infinite detail. He saw the spittle foaming at the sides of the Varren's mouth; saw the strands of saliva hanging from its jaws. He saw the blackened paintwork flaking off, small flecks stirring in the wind; he heard the creaking of the trees, bending in the wind. He felt the wind on his back and the cold air in his lungs. He saw the Varren coming towards him; savage, bestial, unthinking save for its desire to kill.

Hefting the remaining shard of spear in his hand, he threw it with all his might. It flipped end over end, flying straight for Varren and Ethan's hope, his fear and his will to survive went with it.

* * *

><p>A day later the elderly Hanar sage stood at the bottom of the path that led up to the dwelling he shared with his student. Above him the sun worked its way along its eternal path across the sky. Behind him the waves waged their near-everlasting war of attrition against the cliffs. And before him lay the primordial beauty of the jungle, verdant greens and browns before it dropped away into black shadows.<p>

_"We are all small against the grandeur of nature,"_ he thought to himself, disregarding the usual formality with which he spoke due to his solitude. _"War may shatter the galaxy, thousands or millions might die but the sun will still shine, the mountains will still stand. We are all naught but dust against them."_ Slowly he considered why such thoughts had come to him. He knew he was getting no younger. Soon would be the time for him to journey on and see if his gambit had paid off, to see whether The Enkindlers were real. Soon he would have to talk to Ethan, to tell him all he must know. To tell him why-

A sudden rustling shook him from his soliloquy. Slowly he readied the neurotoxins he naturally possessed, directing them to the tips of his tentacles. The beasts of the forest mostly ignored him but every so often a young Varren would make a try of making him its meal, an attempt it lived through if it was lucky. He mentally prepared himself for combat as slowly the leaves parted.

The leaves parted to reveal Ethan, sweat drenched and with a few new cuts and bruises but otherwise fine. Mentally directing the neurotoxins to dissipate, the old Hanar moved towards his student, gliding over the ground. As he drew close Ethan bowed deeply from the waist.

"Master," he said, keeping his eyes on the ground. "I have done as you have asked."

"This one would like to know if you have anything to say?" he replied, falling back once more into the typical polite speech of his race.

"Yes master, I do." Ethan replied "I'd like to thank you, for what you did for my parents. Also I would like you to know that the great Varren I told you of is dead."

"Indeed? This one would like you to tell it of all you experienced."

"As you wish master." And with that Ethan began the report of his experiences.

By the time Ethan was finished the sun had already reached its zenith and had begun dipping towards the horizon. Both he and his master were now in the courtyard of their residence, Ethan sitting upon a small chair, his master hovering before him

"It seems you have had quite an experience, my student."

"Indeed, master."

"This one is very proud of your achievements. You may take the remains of day as you will. This one will summon you when it is necessary for us to talk."

"Thank you, my master." Came Ethan's reply, after which he got up, bowed and went to his quarters.

* * *

><p>Several hours later Ethan heard a noise like nothing he had ever heard before. It was like the buzzing of many insects in flight, but multiplied several hundred times over. Grabbing his sword from his desk and looping the belt around his waist he ran to the front door. There he found his master just outside, staring up at the sky. Just as he stepped outside a shadow blocked out the light of the waning sun. Above him a craft of gleaming silver metal flew through the sky. It flew over the rough dwelling built on the peninsula, heading to the west.<p>

Instantly his master turned to him. "Identify." He asked, uncommonly brusquely.

The profile of the craft, which was busy setting down around half a kilometer to the west, triggered a memory in Ethan's head.

"UT-47 Kodiak Drop Shuttle." Ethan supplied, remembering it from one of his lessons.

"Very good." His master replied. "Now Ethan, stay here. This one will see what our guests want."

"But, master surely-" Ethan tried to protest but his master cut him off,

"This one did not offer a suggestion Ethan."

"Very well. As you wish." And with that he span on his heel and made his way back inside.

He had only got to his room when he heard the gunshot spilt the still air.

His heart in his mouth, Ethan started running. He tore through his house, his mind conjuring scenarios he didn't want to even consider. He barreled down the rocky peninsula, not caring as the sharp-edged cut at his feet. His chest heaved and his legs ached but he didn't feel it. His gaze was fixed at the location of the shuttle's landing zone, where the gunshot had come from. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as his legs gained another boost of speed. But it wasn't enough. Stopping just within the shadows at the edge of the clearing his blue eyes took in a sight that turned his blood to ice.

His master was on the ground, the levitation pack that was powered by his own energy no longer functioning, and blue tinged liquid that was the Hanar equivalent of blood was pouring from a bullet hole in his side. Around him were four scavengers, judging from their mis-matched, out of date, armor, which were either scorched or punctured by bullet holes.

"Stupid Jellyfish," stated one of the scavengers, a Batarian without a helmet and mis-matched shoulder-pads who held a smoking Carnifex Heavy Pistol. "Trying to get in our way."

"Yeah," said another, a helmeted human whose leg-guards were of a different style to his chestplate, which itself had a large crack down one side. "Come on, lets go find what's left of the Valiant."

As the other two scavengers joined in the conversation, talking about cuts or other such things, Ethan felt anger start to course through his veins, swallowing the grief. His vision narrowed on the four men who had taken from him his master and his friend. Blue witchfire, tinged not this time with white but black, almost as if it were drawing the ink from his tattoo, course across his entire body and ever so silently he drew his Kopis, the blade shining silver.

With a cry of anger and anguish in equal measure Ethan used his biotics to hurl himself forward into the midst of the scavengers. The Batarian died within a heartbeat, his throat crushed by a biotically reinforced punch. Sweeping his legs low across the grass, Ethan brought down the helmeted human, who died screaming as Ethan drove his blade straight through the layers of ceramic plating that covered his stomach, before ripping it upwards, through his ribcage, eviscerating his heart and lungs. The third, a Salarian dressed in only the thinnest of armors, could only watch in muted horror as Ethan, using his blade, which was still thrust into his comrade's chest, as a base from which he cartwheeled, thrusting his feet, aided by biotics, into the Salarian's chest, crushing the bones of his rib-cage which speared his vital organs.

As Ethan righted himself and ripped his blade from the mutilated torso of the human the last scavenger, a barefaced Turian, finally pulled his rifle free. Bringing it to his shoulder he sighted on the glowing blue bastard who had just taken apart his buddies.

"I've got you now, you son of a bitch." He said, his voice raspy. But before he could squeeze the trigger a voice, dripping with hatred and wrath, interrupted his though processes.

"Not a chance in hell."

The swordsman's hand shot out, blue and black biotic fire flowing from it. It enveloped the rifle he held tightly in trembling hand, flowing over every bit of it. Then the man clenched his fist and the assault rifle cracked, deformed and twisted before finally just shattering in his grasp, leaving him holding two lumps of black plastic. Immediately he stumbled back, tripping in his haste to get away. Scuttling backwards on his hands and knees he finally hit the side of the small shuttle he and his friends had used to get to this damn planet. Looking up he gazed fearfully into a pair of deep blue eyes that stared back at him with as much sympathy as he would give a bug he crushed beneath his heel.

"Spirits, no!" he cried as the young man hefted that bloodstained blade of his. "Mercy I beg of you!"

The blue eyes did not lose their hard look.

"No." was the only reply he got as the blade swung in.

His shoulder rising and falling as he drew in great gulps of air, Ethan turned his back on the now decapitated Turian and ran to his master's side. Tearing off a strip of his shirt he tried desperately to plug the bullet hole in his master's body. As he did so his master stirred slightly, turning what counted as his head to look up at his student, who had tears running down his cheeks.

"Ethan…" he managed to say, his normally serene, almost ethereal, voice changed to little more than a weak whisper.

"I'm here master, I'm here. Just hold on. I'm going to-"

"There is no point Ethan, this is this one's time."

"Don't say that!" Ethan begged "I just need to get you back to the house, I can do this. I can do it!"

"Listen to me Ethan," he instructed, abandoning civility in light of the circumstances. "In my study…the back wall. There's a safe. Combination 22-07-59. The contents are yours."

"22-07-59. Got it."

"Ethan. There's something you've got to know, about your training, the reason behind it. My true name, my soul name, is Xanthian. In the language of my people it means "He who prepares the guard". I was given this name because…" but the elderly Hanar was unable to finish. His body relaxed, his voice faded into nothingness and the faint light that was the only amount of Hanar bioluminescence Ethan could pick up blinked into darkness.

"Master?" Ethan asked, his voice hoarse. "Master?" He asked again, shaking the Hanar's body slightly.

"XANTHIAAAAAN!" He screamed to the heavens, his voice full of pain and loss.

* * *

><p>An hour later he stood before the door to his master's study. The one room he had never entered unless asked to. He had buried Xanthian, weighing his body with rocks and letting the sea take him, as had been his will, told to him one evening as they had talked of the differences in religions.<p>

Slowly opening the door, he stepped inside the room of gleaming wood. He ignored the great shelves of books, each penned in his master's neat, flowing script. He ignored the great window of leaded glass that allowed in the pale light of the moon. He did not even pause as he passed the polished desk, upon which rested even more papers and a small terminal. Finally he came to the safe, which was set into the exterior wall at the back.

Typing in the code, which he had ruefully figured out was his date of birth, he opened the thick metal door. Reaching inside he pulled out a duffle bag and a bundle, wrapped in oilcloth. Taking both to the center of the room he first opened the duffle bag, tipping its contents onto the floor.

They were clothes, finely made clothes at that.

"It must've taken Xanthian months to make these." Ethan thought to himself.

Doffing his torn and bloodstained shirt he put on the long-sleeved shirt of white cotton, doing up all but the last two buttons. Then he picked up a sleeveless black leather jacket, highly embellished with gold thread of the same design as his tattoo. As he picked it up felt his arms sag slightly as he felt the weight of it. Trying to figure it out he examined the jacket and ran his hands along it. After a while he figured out the cause of the extra weight. Between the two layers of leather his master had placed thin ceramic plates, which afforded both protection and mobility. Sliding his arms through the holes, he zipped it up to around three quarters of its length. Next he donned a pair of black trousers, around which he looped his sword belt and which he tucked into black shin length Varren leather boots, which had gold embellishments as well. Finally he turned to the last, but by no means least, article of clothing. It was a greatcoat of black wool. Slipping it on it fell to halfway down his shins. Adapting to the feel he realized that Xanthian had weighted the hem, adding an offensive capability to the garment. Added to the back neckline was a thick hood, to both conceal his face and protect him from the elements.

Bending down Ethan picked up the bundle of black oilcloth and unwrapped it. Within the mess of fabric was a pair of guns. And what a pair! They were a pair of M-4 Shuriken Submachineguns, but they'd been heavily modified. They had had their Mass Effect generators replaced with more powerful models, so a note found with them explained, adding extra stopping power as well as phasic jacketing for increased penetration of either armor or shielding and kinetic dampeners had been added to prevent recoil. To top it off they had been recolored as jet black with golden embellishment along the barrel. Provided with them was a set of dual shoulder holsters, like his belt done in black leather and decorated with gold thread. Slipping the guns into the holsters, he doffed his greatcoat and put on the holsters, before donning the greatcoat once more.

Striding to his room he packed a small rucksack with his few personal items and some supplies before going to the front door. Drawing the hood over his head, sheathing his face in shadow. Taking one last look at the place that had been his home for two decades Ethan began walking down the winding path. Within a few minutes he was at the clearing where his master had died. The beasts of the forest had already made off with the scavengers' bodies but he didn't care. They did not deserve burial. Opening the shuttle door he stepped into the cockpit. Telling the VI to plot a course to the nearest system hub he laid back in the seat and closed his eyes.

It was time to meet the galaxy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: The Commander**

_2 Years later…_

Garin Marus, a Salarian dockyard worker on Omega, was not having a good day. Sure he enjoyed the work he did, fixing up navigation tech on passing ships, and most of his workmates weren't complete idiots and to top it off they'd just hit a big score by fixing up a passing mining ship. But now here he was, pinned against a wall, a Batarian mugger holding a wickedly serrated knife to his throat. Normally his high metabolism would've caused him to go through the normal emotions of surprise, panic and fear but in this situation, with the sharp metal pricking at his skin whilst the mugger yelled at him to give him his account details, the intense feeling of fear didn't seem to be going away, he truly didn't have a desire to die at the age of sixteen. As his eyes darted right and left he noticed someone standing a few meters to his right.

The figure was dressed head to toe in black, a hooded greatcoat that fell almost to the floor covering their face. In the dim lighting of Omega's Kanawa district the figure almost seemed a part of the shadows. With the reddish light beaming down on him the golden decoration on the figure's clothes seemed to glow like hot metal. His mind working at a pace he didn't even know was possible he deduced that the figure was either a Human or a Batarian, most likely a Human from the style of dress, male and in his mid to late twenties. Slowly he took a step forward, his boots seeming to echo against the metal floor. The sound of footsteps brought the mugger's face spinning round to face the hooded figure.

"Help!" Garin cried out plaintively, "Help me!" This only caused the mugger to press the blade harder into his throat, causing a few beads of green blood to well up along its edge. Garin flinched at the pain.

"Get any closer Human and I'll open his throat out." The Batarian warned, his tone menacing. It was tone that he had used to instil fear in all of his victims. He virtually ran this district's alleyways and dark corners and one human wasn't going to stop him.

"Fine." Came the reply from within the hood, the voice adopting an almost nonchalant tone. Moving up next to the Batarian the figure looked at Garin, blue eyes sparkling within the shadows of his hood. "Which artery do you usually sever?"

"What?" Garin nearly shrieked "No!"

"I'm warning you human." The Batarian growled, taking the knife away from Garin's throat and holding it in front of the human. "Back off or I'll-"

What happened next was so quick Garin could hardly keep up. The hooded man's left arm shot out, grabbing the Batarian's wrist. With a quick twist and a sharp CRACK he broke it, causing the knife to spin away, sliding across the floor before hitting a wall. As the Batarian yelped in pain the hooded figure's right arm snapped out, blue witchfire coursing down its length. His right hand closed around the Batarian's throat and with a slight grunt, he lifted him into the air.

"Fuck!" The Batarian gasped, his legs moving frantically in the air and his hands struggling for grip on the hooded human's arm. Confidently the human walked over to a balcony, which offered a view of the various spires of Omega that jutted from the huge asteroid's underbelly like harpoons in a whale. Adjusting his grip slightly the human hoisted the Batarian up and over the balcony. Beneath the Batarian was nothing but empty air. Visibly panicking he looked pleadingly into the shadow cast by the hood.

"Please, no. I'm begging you." Garin found it perversely funny how quickly the Batarian's attitude had been changed. He had thought himself untouchable, a veritable god among men. 'Nobody is untouchable.' He had forgotten the principle law of life on Omega "Just stop!"

When the reply came it came with the same nonchalance and an almost casual shake of the head. "Uh…let me think….No." And with that he simply dropped him. The total casualness with which he took a life sent a shiver through Garin, but when the human's hand closed around HIS throat he nearly lost it.

"Please, I… I" he tried to speak but found he couldn't. Fear was totally overriding any locative function. The Human wouldn't even have to use his biotics to throw him over the edge and he probably wouldn't even think about it.

"I, was never here." The words were simple and delivered with a tone of command. It was more as if he was stating a fact than telling a lie. All Garin could do was shake his head in agreement With a bored tone the Human spoke again, his hand falling from Garin's throat and patting him on the shoulder. "Go."

As he watched the Salarian run as fast his legs could carry him, not really caring where he was actually going, Ethan threw back his hood, sighed and moved off in the direction of the nearest shuttle bay. "I need a drink." He said to himself.

* * *

><p><em>3 hours later…<em>

As he walked through the neon filled bar known as Afterlife Commander John Shepard, Captain of the Normandy, First Human Spectre and Savior of the Citadel, wondered what he was doing there. As he walked by one of the bars, which was lined with multicoloured drinks and people of various races downing them like water, he thought of the time he had come here, not so long ago, just after his resurrection by Cerberus. He had come to Afterlife to seek an audience with the pirate queen of Omega, Aria T'Loak and to find out what she knew about Doctor Mordin Solus and the vigilante known as Archangel, who had turned out to be his old teammate and friend Garrus Vakarian. As he looked back on those memories, the meeting with the ambitious Asari crime-lord, the plague and saving Garrus from a massed attack from most of the major merc bands on this filth-ridden station, he found himself unconsciously running an armoured finger along one of his scars, which glowed a faint red. Chakwas said they'd heal on their own and to him they couldn't heal fast enough.

"Over there." The blunt words of the scarred veteran mercenary known as Zaeed Massani jerked Shepard out of his reverie. Following the mercenary's outstretched arm he caught sight of the man. Threading through the crowds of chattering Humans, Batarians and Turians he made his way towards the table in the corner. As he did so he passed just in front of the upper lounge were Aria kept her 'court'. At that moment she happened to be surveying the crowded nightclub that was the heart and soul of Omega, looking down she noticed Shepard who gave her a cursory nod, which she returned, intrigued at the formerly dead Spectre's return to her station.

The man who was seated or, more appropriately, splayed at the table did not live up to Shepard's expectations. He was dressed in a shirt so grimy that Shepard couldn't even guess what color it had been originally. His face, which was as caked with grime as his shirt, was heavily bearded and his long hair hung about it, lank and greasy. He appeared to be asleep, his head resting on his folded arms on the table's surface, which was littered with bottles and various containers, all save one empty.

"You sure this is him Zaeed?" Shepard asked his squadmate, who fixed him with a glare.

"Of course I'm damn sure!" Zaeed responded, annoyance clear in his voice at such a doubtful question. "Hey Farrows, wake up you jackass!" and with that he delivered a kick to the table, sending the bottles on his tumbling.

Slamming out an arm to secure the last full bottle, the figure raised his head to look at the two men through bloodshot blue eyes.

"Ah Massani!" he said, his slurred voice confirming his drunkenness. "Good to see you again! You're not here to kill me are ya?" Laughing, his gaze flicked over to Shepard. "And who's Mr Lightbulb? New squaddie?"

"I'm not here for your head, you drunken fool. And Mr Lightbulb is Commander Shepard, he's here to offer you a job."

The drunkard just stared for a moment, before bursting into a hail of laughter. As he convulsed in his seat Shepard drew Zaeed away from the table.

"Zaeed, you can't be serious. The man's a drunken idiot." Beneath his cool veneer anger bubbled at both this useless diversion and the drunken man's taunt.

"I'm serious. Just trust me on this Shepard, this guy's good." And with that they turned back to the table, where the man was still in hysterics. After a few moments the man settled down.

"Seriously now Zaeed," he asked, wiping tears from his eyes "Who's he and what do you want?"

"You heard me." Came the gruff mercenary's only reply.

"What's the terms and what's the pay?"

"Choose." Shepard replied, his tone cool. Taking out a datapad he slid across the table. "Zaeed here tells me your one of the best."

"Zaeed you shouldn't have." The man said in a coy voice, picking up the datapad reading the terms and typing in a number. Having chosen his fee he stood up, swaying slightly, announcing in a faux pompous voice. "I hereby swear that I, Ethan Farrows, will work for you till either the completion of my contract or my death."

"Good." Shepard replied, still vaguely unimpressed with the man before him. Picking up he surveyed the datapad, noting that the amount the drunkard had requested was a relatively small amount. "The Normandy's docked at the docking port in front of Afterlife. See you onboard."

"Very well," Ethan said, sitting down again and grabbing the bottle. "I will see you in a bit, just have some things to take care of."

"Fine." Was Shepard's only reply.

As he and Zaeed headed back through the club, back towards the Normandy, the grizzled veteran turned his head to look at his employer.

"You won't be sorry Shepard. Farrows is damn good."

"We'll see." Shepard said, still not convinced.

"And it's a damn good job you didn't take offense at the whole 'Mr Lightbulb' thing."

"Why? Zaeed the man could hardly stand."

"You fell for that?" Zaeed asked chuckling. "Shepard that guy was pretty much sober. And what's more is that the entire time he was seated he had a Claymore shotgun, bolted underneath the table, cocked and pointed right at your stomach."

"What? That was all an act?" Shepard replied, coming to a stop at the end of the hallway that led to the airlock. "You're serious?"

Zaeed continued on, but he turned his head back to reply to the Commander. "What else do you expect from Aria's personal assassin?"

* * *

><p>An hour and a half later Shepard was stood at his private terminal in the CIC, going over some messages. As he pored through messages from the Illusive Man about new armaments he had shipped o the Normandy, dossiers for potential recruits and the ever-present spam messages promising free credits, expert sex tips or 'enhancements' he heard the airlock open. Sighing he went to meet the man he had reluctantly put on his squad.<p>

What he saw made him pause in shock and surprise. The man that stood before him, a duffel bag slung over one broad shoulder, was completely different to the man he had met in the bar. His face and hair were clean, his beard was gone, he was dressed in an immaculate black and gold greatcoat, vest, trousers and boots and his eyes had lost their bloodshot appearance. Instead they glistened in the artificial light, a deep royal blue.

"Finished your inspection Commander Shepard?" Ethan asked.

"Sorry, I was distracted. It's just that you seem-"

"Different? Well the way I see it, if you're looking for the man that killed your brother while he was making a speech to his mercs, you won't think he's the drunk in the corner of Afterlife. The hair and beard were fake and I have special contacts for the bloodshot eyes."

"Clever." Shepard replied, impressed by the assassin's ingenuity. "So you were Aria's personal assassin?"

"Indeed. If she wanted someone taken care of quietly she contracted a hitman, if she wanted to make a point, to say 'Don't fuck with me.' she used me. It was a good enough job, good pay and no contract. Getting out was as simple as just saying, "I found a better gig." No hard feelings."

"Fair enough, ready to get going."

"Yup, where should I store my stuff? It's just that I'm not a big fan of sleeper pods."

Suddenly EDI's synthesized voice intruded onto the conversation. "There is an empty auxiliary storage room on the hangar deck. It should provide adequate accommodation."

"Ah." Came Ethan's reply, he looked at Shepard, an inquisitive eyebrow raised.

"That's EDI, the Normandy's Artificial Intelligence." He explained.

"And a royal pain in the ass!" Came a yell from the cockpit.

"And that was Joker, the pilot."

"I see. Well if it's alright with you I'll head down to my new quarters."

"If it's alright with you I'd like you to introduce you to the ground crew you'll be working with."

"Yeh sure, lead on."

And with that the two men strode down the walkway that led from the cockpit towards the main body of the CIC. As he passed by the Galaxy Map Ethan found his eyes drawn to a rather pretty redhead, who was bent over a console, sifting through reports and messages. As the commander walked by her head shot up and she turned to talk to him. But as she did she caught sight of the blonde haired stranger next to him. A blond-haired stranger with the most stunning blue eyes.

"Kelly?" Shepard asked, quite bemused at the slightly bemused look on the Yeoman's face.

"Sorry." She said, shaking her head slightly. "There's no new messages for you Commander and the ground crew has assembled in the briefing room."

"Thank you Kelly." Shepard replied, turning to move away.

"I'm Ethan, by the way, Ethan Farrows. I'm on the team." Ethan supplied, dipping his head in greeting.

"I'm Yeoman Kelly Chambers. I'm Commander Shepard's Personal Assistant." Kelly supplied in response, extending her hand in greeting, which Ethan grasped and shook.

"I look forward to working with you Ms Chambers." He said, giving a winning smile.

"Please, call me Kelly."

"As you wish." At a barely audible cough from Shepard he released her hand and made to follow the commander through to the briefing room. "See you later Kelly."

"You too, Ethan." Kelly said, just as the door that led to the Tech Lab and beyond that the Briefing Room slid shut.

* * *

><p>"Everyone," Shepard announced, walking into the Briefing Room, Ethan beside him. "This is Ethan Farrows, he's going to be working with us." And with that he left the room.<p>

The first to speak was Jack, the tattooed convict. She was leaning against the back wall, ill at ease with having to be around others. She stared at Ethan, sizing him up as a buyer would a new shuttle. "Fine, keep him away from me and we'll be fine." And with that she walked out of the Briefing Room, heading back to her 'quarters' in the Engineering Sub-Deck.

"Something I said?" Ethan asked light-heartedly as the door closed.

"That's Jack, she's like that." Said a woman in white and black catsuit, whose dark brown hair framed a face that somehow looked almost 'too' perfect. _"That catsuit really does leave nothing to the imagination." _Ethan thought to himself as the woman approached. "I'm Miranda, Shepard's Second-In-Command. I hope you'll prove a valuable member of the team."

"Well I'll certainly try." Ethan replied, keeping his tone neutral. "But tell me, is that line as engineered as you are?"

The shocked look on Miranda's face told him he'd guessed correctly. "How-"

"In my line of work it paid to be observant."

"I'll bet." Came a reply from a dark-skinned man who was standing at the head of the large table that dominated the room with his fists pressed against its surface. From the look in his eyes there was barely concealed hostility there.

"I take it you have an issue with my old profession?" Ethan asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"I have an issue with mercenaries. Assassins are just precise ones."

"And soldiers are just mercs with regular pay." Ethan replied, his voice rising in volume.

"That's enough Jacob." Came a voice that bore the typical flange of a Turian. Looking to his left Ethan noticed a scarred Turian whose blue armor was blackened and broken at the collar. "He's one of us now. You have a problem with him, go talk to Shepard."

"Whatever." Was his only reply and with that both the Cerberus personnel left the room.

"Thanks for that…" Ethan said, unable to finish his sentence due to a lack of a name.

"The name's Garrus. You probably knew me as Archangel." The Turian supplied.

"'Truly?" Ethan asked, taken aback slightly. He'd been told of the plot by the Suns, Eclipse and Blood Pack to take out the vigilante. Hell, Jaroth of the Eclipse had even offered him a fortune to do it himself. Everyone had said he was dead, along with the leaders of the Merc groups. "Nice to see you're still alive. Never did like Garm, Tarak or Jaroth."

"Likewise. Saw you take out that Talon leader, what was his name? Ferrun, Feran? Something like that."

"That was a good hit, getting out was hell though. "

"Yeah, fifteen pissed off Krogan bodyguards. No offense but I thought you weren't getting out of that one."

"Coming from the guy who nearly single-handedly pissed off all three major Merc bands on Omega?" Ethan asked, a smirk spreading across his face.

"Fair enough." Came Garrus' reply. "If you want to talk I'll be in the Forward Batteries, Crew Deck." And with that the Ex Turian Vigilante left the room, pausing to clap Ethan on the shoulder.

"Oh, I'm sorry Doctor Solus. I didn't see you." Ethan apologised, turning to the Salarian scientist. He'd known the Salarian from his time on Omega. From what he'd heard he was a good guy: solid, dependable but with a hidden edge, a core of steel. He'd heard the various stories, of how he killed the Blue Suns that had tried to press him for protection money, of how he'd protected his patients and the human refugees that were in his clinic and how he'd cured the plague. Despite the nature of his own work Ethan respected the guy.

"Understand you have many people to meet. Lack of awareness of my presence understandable. Heard of exploits. Impressive record. Look forward to working with you. Will be in Tech Lab if you need me." And so the Salarian also left, leaving Ethan alone in room, Zaeed having not even shown up.

* * *

><p>A few minutes later the elevator doors slid open on the hangar deck. Picking up his duffel bag Ethan stepped out. Turning to his left he pressed the access panel on the door. Stepping inside the unused storage room one word came to his mind: EMPTY. There was nothing in the room at all. Four walls, a floor and a ceiling, that was it. Walking inside he dropped his duffel bag in the corner and leant against the wall. <em>"Well I've slept in worse. Much worse."<em> He thought to himself, before sliding down the wall. Drawing his coat around him he closed his eyes and prepared to surrender himself to the sweet release of sleep. Mentally he went over his day, a habit he had picked up to help him consider the consequences his hits could bring about. _"Took care of that mugger, why I do not know. Possible repurcussions? Minimal. Went for a drink, bumped into Moklan, knocked over his drink. Repercussions? Also minimal. Weak in close range combat, no biotics, average ability in firearms. Also terrified of Aria's disapproval. Signed on with Shepard, terminated employment with Aria. Repercussions? Non-existant. She was fine with it. Settled my bar tab, much to Hrogan's surprise. Said goodbye to Shairi, Tessa, Naomi, Liana, Maria and Hairina. Note to self: Must create better excuse than "The winds of destiny have blown on my life. I have no choice but to go, but I will never forget you. You are the love of my life." Repurcussions? As long as they never meet, minimal. If they do? Things could get interesting. Paid lease on apartment in full, but still retain safehouse in lower Hanashan District. Introduced to Normandy ground team. Made good impressions with Archa- Garrus and Doctor Solus. Zaeed and I still possess decent relations. Indifference exhibited by Jack, must impove upon. Negative impressions made with Jacob and Miranda. Repurcussions? Unlikely with Miranda, total proffesional at first glance. Jacob? Possibility. Will have to watch my back. And now, time for rest, guns and Kopis within easy reach." _With that his breathing and heart rate slowed, slowly his consciousness began to drift off into darkness.

But then his eyes snapped open as an idea that caused him to think: _"How did I not think of this?"_ and knuckle his forehead came to mind.

"EDI?" He asked the empty air.

"Yes Mr Farrows?" came the synthesised voice of the AI.

"I take it that I run all requisitions through you?"

"That is correct."

A smile slowly spread across Ethan's face. "Great, I'm going to need a few things."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Korlus**

_"Commander, we're thirty minutes from Korlus."_

Jokers voice roused Shepard from his slumber. Pushing aside his bedcovers, he quickly washed and shaved. Ashe looked at his reflection he noticed the largest of the cybernetic scars, the one that ran just above his jawline from his ear to his chin, has closed up, no longer glowing red but instead just simple scar tissue and according to Chakwas that too would fade. His daily tasks done he turned to his armor closet. Within moments he was outfitted in his personal armor, the Aegis Vest and the Sirta Foundation's Stimulator Conduits complementing the N7 armor he had picked up soon after his resurrection.

Once he was ready he headed down to the CIC. Kelly told him as soon as he exited the lift that he had no new messages and none of the crew had requested a chat so he headed unburdened to the Armory. Nodding at Jacob, who was examining one of the Mattock rifles The Illusive Man had shipped to the Normandy, he went over to Weapons Locker that contained most of the squad's weapons, save for the few spread out across the tables of the armory. Pressing in his private code, he caused a door in the locker to open, revealing his personal weapons. Reaching inside he first pulled out the M-8 Avenger Assault Rifle and clipped it to his back, next followed the M-92 Mantis Sniper Rifle and the M-22 Eviscerator Shotgun, his array of weapons was finally topped off by the M-6 Carnifex Pistol and the M-100 Grenade Launcher he had found on the Cerberus station during his awakening. Clipping each into its specific place on his body he turned to leave.

But Jacob's voice checked his step.

"Commander," He said, turning from his work on the new rifles. "Could we speak for a minute?"

"What's on your mind Jacob?" Shepard replied, turning to face the Cerberus Operative.

"It's about that new guy we picked up. Farrows."

"What about him?" Shepard asked, leaning against the wall of the armory, arms crossed. "I heard you and he didn't get along at the meeting."

"You could say that." Jacob sighed, looking down at the floor then back up at Shepard. "I don't trust him. After I met him I did some digging. Used both Cerberus and friends I have in the Alliance. He's been around: Pit Fighter in the Batarian Hegemony-"

"Sorry, he was a what?" Shepard cut in, eyebrows raised. He too had looked at Ethan's file but he hadn't noticed that. Then again, he had only gotten past the first page before falling asleep.

"A Pit Fighter. Think of a Roman gladiator and you've got the gist of it. Anyway, after that he was a bodyguard for a while. He foiled at least five different attempts on the Turian General Hararn. Then he drifted to Omega and took up residence as the Personal Assassin of none other than Aria T'Loak. All in the space of two years."

"So?" Shepard replied, not really getting what Jacob was getting at. "Nobody on this ship has had a peaceful life."

"Yeh, but can we trust a guy who spent two years flitting around the galaxy? Fighting for whoever paid him the highest?"

"Jacob, I'm not asking you to like the guy or approve of his business ethics." Jacob answered, his tone becoming slightly colder. "I'm asking you to work with him. Anything else is a bonus."

"Very well." Was Jacob's only reply to the mild rebuke.

"Do you need anything else Jacob?"

"No, that'll be all."

And with that he turned to leave.

* * *

><p>A few minutes later he was in the Cargo Bay, waiting for Mordin to finish up in his Lab and join him. As he waited he went over his team choice. They were going to bring back Okeer, a Krogan Warlord and Geneticist, from a planet essentially run by the Blue Suns mercenary group. Zaeed, who was sat across from him in the shuttle, was an obvious choice. He knew everything there was to know about the Blue Suns, their tactics, and their command structure. If there were Blue Suns involved, their co-founder was the man to call. And as for the Salarian? His skills with flame techs would prove invaluable in the fight against the armor of the Blue Suns and he would be able to confirm Okeer's skills.<p>

His train of thought was brought to a juddering halt by a tapping on the hull of the shuttle. Looking towards the open door he saw Ethan, fully dressed and drinking from a mug of coffee. Shepard saw his blue eyes surveying the old mercenary and himself and he couldn't be sure but he swore he saw the blonde fighter's eyes narrow momentarily as they alighted on the Carnifex pistol at his hip, before they turned back to their normal, inviting, shape.

"Hey." He said, taking a sip of the black liquid in the mug, feeling the warmth spreading down his throat. "You heading down to Korlus?"

"That's the plan." Zaeed supplied the answer. "Soon as the doc gets here anyway."

"Don't suppose I could come along Shepard?" Ethan asked, putting the now empty mug on the ground. "I've always wanted to see the garbage scow with an atmosphere."

"Sorry Ethan. Ground Team's chosen." Shepard replied, keeping his tone even.

"Just three?" Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow. "Surely four would work better. If someone gets injured there's one to help them and the other two can provide cover fire."

The numbers began running through Shepard's head. Tactics updated, offensive and defensive plans updated and adapted to the proposal. Finally he reached a decision.

"You make a good point. Get in." Shepard agreed, gesturing at a spare seat.

"Just as well I packed." Ethan replied, pushing the folds of his greatcoat away from his body, showing the twin guns and sword that made up his weaponry.

This time it was Shepard's turn to raise an eyebrow. "A sword? Kinda old tech."

"You'd be surprised." Came the reply. "I've found that this blade" he continued, patting the scabbard. "Is more than good enough to carry into a fight. More lives have been taken by this than by the plague you stopped on Omega."

"Pretty impressive." Shepard replied.

"It better be. I didn't train with it everyday for twenty years just to be average."

"Twenty years?" Shepard asked, incredulous. "But that means you started training at-"

"Four years old." Shepard noticed that Ethan's eyes had grown cold. He knew it was unwise to keep pressing.

Luckily at that moment Doctor Solus appeared at the shuttle entrance.

"Greetings." Then his eyes alighted on Ethan. "Ah, Farrows. Seems you have convinced Shepard to allow you to accompany us. Good. Always personally felt four man squad superior to three."

"Why didn't you say so?" Shepard demanded, his voice rising in surprise.

"Didn't find it appropriate. Considering history of service found it highly probable that you had considered four man squad and dismissed it."

Shepard sat back in his chair, arms folded. It was at that point, as the hangar doors opened and the drop shuttle powered up its engines, that he noticed Zaeed was making a deliberate attempt not to look at him.

"Don't tell me you thought so to."

"Didn't think it was right, you holding my contract and all." The gruff mercenary replied.

"How many of the others feel this way as well?" He asked, pinching the bridge of his nose and almost dreading the answer.

It was a good job space was a vacuum. Or else their enemies on the rapidly approaching planet below them probably would've heard Ethan's peals of laughter.

* * *

><p>As they touched down on Korlus Shepard drew the M-8 Avenger from his back. Feeling the familiar weight in his hands, he jumped down from the shuttle and ran to the nearest bit of cover. To his left was Mordin, a Carnifexheavy pistol in hand. To his right Ethan followed, hood up and gripping both Shuriken SMGs. And, forming the rearguard, Zaeed followed, Mantis Sniper Rifle scanning the horizon. What confronted them was an endless expanse of twisted, broken metal. The ground was littered with barely recognisable engine and hull pieces and to their right rose a great hulk of metal, the badly eroded hull of what had been a human cruiser, which was now listing dangerously to one side.<p>

"Well for once a Council Official wasn't lying. This place _is_ a dump." Shepard heard Ethan say to nobody in particular.

Repressing a smile, he set his mouth to a grim line and focussed his mind on the mission ahead. Confident that everyone was ready, he broke cover, rifle sweeping back and forth.

"THERE IS ONLY MEASURE OF SUCCESS: KILL OR BE KILLED!" A female voice blared over a nearby loudspeaker. Ignoring it, as he would a noisy insect, he moved forward, his squad fanning behind him.

"Canned orders over loudspeaker? Classy." Zaeed's words dripped with sarcasm.

"Stay focussed," Shepard told him as they ran. "We're looking for a Krogan Warlord."

As they ran through corridors formed by the broken remnants of once glittering ships Shepard knew each of member of the ground team felt the same familiar feelings of apprehension at the coming conflict. Mordin, as was normal for a Salarian, processed his feelings quickly, Zaeed dealt with his differently. He seemed to turn that apprehension into anticipation, gaining a modicum of pleasure from the knowledge that he was about to put another one of the Blue Suns' projects out of commission. Ever since he'd prevented Zaeed from taking his vengeance on Vido Santiago, the current head of the Blue Suns who had been Zaeed's partner, before he betrayed and shot him, Zaeed saw each attack on the Blue Suns as a personal attack against his nemesis. He turned to his training, putting aside all emotion; his mind's only concern the positioning of his squad, of what tactical manoeuvres to use. Why he didn't know. Looking over to his right he looked over at the black-garbed figure of Ethan. His hood hid his face, making his eyes unreadable, but his gait and the smirk that was the only part of his face visible showed that he was at ease.

"BEING HIRED IS ONLY THE BEGINNING! YOU MUST EARN YOUR PLACE IN THE MIGHTY ARMY WE ARE BUILDING!"

His gaze snapping forward his radio picked up the sound of nearby Merc transmissions. Throwing back a hand he called a halt. Striding over to a broken section of panelling Shepard placed his back to it and peered around the corner.

"Merc listening station." He supplied to the ground team. Roughly five mercs, no heavies or mechs." He turned then to look his men in the eyes. "Zaeed, when we break cover I want you send a concussive round at them. Mordin, when they get up I expect them to come face to face with your incineration tech. Ethan, I want suppressing fire from you."

"You got it Shepard." The blonde haired fighter replied.

The first the mercs knew of Shepard's attack was when Zaeed's Concussive round exploded in their midst, causing a blast of pressure that knocked them to the ground. Rushing behind cover Shepard began laying down fire, the Assault rifle bucking only slightly in his hands. As one mercenary struggled to get to his feet Mordin launched an incendiary at him. The superheated plasma burned through his hardsuit and within a few moments the mercenary was a writhing mass of charred flesh and flames. Sliding into cover Ethan flipped both Shurikens into Full-Auto. Then, with a deep breath, he leapt up and poured fire from the heavily modified weapons into the disorientated mercs. The mass-accelerated rounds, as well as those of Shepard, Mordin and Zaeed, punched into the mercenaries and within a few seconds after contact all hostiles had been dealt with.

As the ground team made their way up onto the Listening Station's main area, which was nothing more than a platform raised above the filth-covered ground, Shepard glanced down the ramp that lead further into the maze of scrap. His eyes alighted on the crumpled but breathing figure of a Blue Suns merc. The Concussive Round had probably thrown him clear of the conflict. As he began walking up to him he put away the Assault Rifle, a gesture of trust the others reciprocated.

"Shit, shit! It won't stop bleeding…I'm gonna…son of a bitch!" The merc gasped through gritted teeth.

"Doesn't look fatal." Ethan said as they walked towards the stricken mercenary.

"He doesn't need to know that." Shepard told the hooded man.

"Oh?" At this Ethan's voice lightening slightly. "So you intend to press him for information and use his injury as leverage? Clever. I like it."

Having reached the merc, Shepard stared down coldly at the young human, whose face was obscured by blood and dirt and who slowly got to his feet, tottering lightly and clearly favouring his uninjured leg.

"I knew it wasn't berserkers. Not at range." The injured merc said, taking a pained breath after each short sentence. "You're mercs, or Alliance. I'm not… I'm not telling you anything."

Powering up his Omni-tool, the orange hologram spreading down his left forearm, Shepard spoke to the merc, his tone even. "I've got a nice application of MediGel ready to go, but if you'd rather I keep walking…" to emphasise the point Ethan turned to move off.

"Sonuva-" The merc hissed. "I just, I don't know anything. I just shoot the overflow from the labs. The old Krogan up there's been clearing house lately. Jedore hired him to make her an army, but the Krogan he makes are insane so we use them for live ammo training. It's all crap, I don't get paid enough to goddamn bleed-out."

"_Outpost Four? Outpost Four." _A crackly, distorted voice came over the merc's radio._ " Jedore wants us to move. We need coordinates on that krogan pack."_

Moving his face close to that of the merc, Shepard spoke to him with a menacing tone. "I want your friends gone, understand?"

"Uh, patrol? The last group dispersed. Lost sight five minutes ago."

"_Dispersed? Jedore'll be pissed, she wanted a show."_ Came the disappointed reply from the radio.

"You wanted a report, you got it. Dispersed." The injured merc replied, his voice gaining a slight edge. Signing off he turned back to look Shepard in the eyes. "See? I'm helping."

Shepard made to move off, but then he turned once again to the injured merc. "If you hurry you might find a shady spot before you bleed out."

As the merc limped off the group of specialists turned to one another. "Nice one, Shepard." Ethan said, a sly smile visible beneath the shadows of his hood. "The scare was a bonus."

"I thought so too." Shepard replied, an amicable tone to his voice. But then his soldier's mind reasserted itself and, like a door shutting, the friendliness vanished. "Come on." He said as he turned and moved off. "Our Warlord is somewhere in Jedore's lab."

The squad continued on, running into resistance but it was minimal and disorganised and there were none among these Blue Suns who could stand before them. Eventually they reached an entrance into the wreck of the cruiser that served as the Blue Suns' base. But as they drew near Shepard recognised the familiar sounds of fighting. Peering through the entrance he saw a Krogan, dressed in the same red and yellow armor that he'd seen on the other bodies he'd passed. The Krogan was fighting some mercs, but they were way beyond the effective range of the Krogan's shotgun, up on a catwalk as they were. This confrontation would only have one outcome if he didn't intervene.

Rushing into the dilapidated wreck the squad added their numbers to the Krogan. Rifles and Submachineguns blazing, they cut down the mercs on the catwalk with ease, but not before the mercs were able to raise the alarm. The battle over the Krogan turned to face Shepard. Slowly, like a Varren stalking its prey, it approached. Unsure of its intentions Ethan trained one of its guns at it. Unseen, his eyes widened when Shepard motioned for him to stand down. Reluctantly he did so.

The krogan began smelling Shepard's chestplate. "You… are different. New. You don't smell like this world." He stood up and took a few steps back to fully look at the human in black armor that stood before him. "Seven night cycles and I have felt only the need to kill. But you… something makes me speak."

"Night cycles?" Zaeed asked. Then he got it. "That thing's only a week old?"

"They must breed them full-size, ready to kill. Not much improvement over regular mercs if they need training," Shepard replied

"Bred… to kill?" The Krogan asked. "No. I kill because my blood and bone tell me to. But it's not why I was flushed from glass mother." The Tank-Grown Krogan continued his explanation. "Survival is what I hear in my head. Against the enemy that threatens all my kind. But I failed even before waking. That is what the voice in the water said. That is why I wait here."

"Okeer's voice? Did he speak to you while you were in your tank?" Shepard asked.

"I heard the voice. Not like now, with ears. Inside," the krogan tried to answer. "I called it 'father'. It liked that. But it was disappointed. I am not what it needs me to be."

"A breeding program. Trying to escape genophage effects?" Mordin asked the krogan.

"Or cure the genophage altogether?" Ethan added.

The krogan turned his head to look at the pair. "Escape? Cure? They were never whispered. Survive. Resist. Ignore."

"How did you disappoint the voice?" Shepard asked.

The krogan shook his head. "I don't know. It was decided before I was flushed from glass mother. I was not perfect."

Figuring he wasn't going to get much else out of the week-old Krogan Shepard looked for a way out, seeing naught but the way they'd come in he turned back to the Krogan.

"Can you show us the laboratory? I need to speak with Okeer."

The krogan pointed at a wall. "The… glass mother. She is up. Past the broken parts. Behind many of you fleshy things. I will show you."

Shepard and his group followed as the krogan walked toward a large metal plate, far larger than anything they could hope to lift unaided, which lay up against the wall. They watched as he gripped the plate tightly.

"Grrrah!" the krogan grunted as he lifted the plate off the wall, muscles straining with the effort, and threw it to the side.

"Yeh yeah, Krogan are strong. We get it." Zaeed stated as they moved towards the new opening.

"You fleshy things are slow when big things are in your way," the Tank-Grown Krogan observed as the group passed him.

Turning his head away from the path before him, Shepard asked, "You could have run or tried to fight your way back to the labs. Why stay here?"

"I am waiting. The voice told me. If they come, I fight. But I will not run and I will not follow," he answered before turning away to return to his lonely vigil. "I am not perfect, but I have purpose. I must wait until called. Released," he said as he left.

Letting the krogan go, Shepard and his team turned back to the tunnel.

"No room to manoeuvre." Zaeed observed, then he spotted a bloodstained mound of blue and white ceramic armor. "Better be careful."

"Surely you mean 'more' careful?" Ethan replied. The mercenary didn't respond.

Slowly, carefully, the team made its way down the hallway. Their eyes scanning the darkness for danger, their hands ready on their weapons. Tension filled the air, heart rates rose slightly before being forcibly calmed. Suddenly a sound of scuffling filled the empty air. Calling a halt Shepard moved carefully to the turn in the corridor. Back straight to the wall he peered slowly around the corner.

He barely heard the merc yelling, "They're loose! Run for your damn life! They're all free!" before he was pitched to the ground as one of two Blue Suns ran into him. He and the first merc went sprawling, both their weapons spinning across the ground. Delivering a violent kick to the merc's helmet he heard a satisfying cracking sound. However that was soon followed the sound of a rifle preparing to fire. Looking up he stared into the barrel of the other merc's Assault Rifle. At nearly point blank range he'd have no chance. In a desperate attempt to save himself Shepard's hand flew to the Carnifex pistol at his side. But before he could reach it there was a brief staccato of shots and the merc fell to the ground, his helmet's faceplate obliterated.

Clambering to his feet he took in the sight if Ethan, right arm straight out in front of him, holding his still smoking Shuriken in perfect stillness. Glancing down, he let the Shuriken fall and proffered his free hand. Grabbing Ethan by the wrist Shepard pulled himself to his feet. Nodding his thanks, he retrieved his rifle from the floor. Then, with his mind settling itself, Shepard led his squad further into mercenary base.

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile, aboard the Normandy…<em>

Whilst Shepard and the ground team were busy down on Korlus Garrus was busy in the Normandy's forward batteries. The Normandy's Javelin Disruptor Torpedo suite had to be calibrated daily. If they weren't the Javelins could have a firing accuracy decrease of 0.01%. In a rifle that was acceptable but at the range that a frigate fired its weapons at that could mean a drift of several meters, which made all the difference between a miss and a hit. And if they did miss then they would fly off into space, gaining momentum constantly. Eventually they would impact and then somebody, somewhere would wind up with a very, very, bad day.

Punching in the last few commands to the ships automated calibrating systems; he turned from the console and walked out, into the Mess Hall. He'd come back later and check on the automated system's progress and make any fine adjustments. Nodding his greeting to Chakwas through the windows of the med-bay and at Sergeant Gardner, who was busy with a broiling stew pot, hopefully having washed his hands, he made his way to the elevator. Punching in the command he waited patiently as the elevator made its quick journey to the CIC.

When the doors opened he strode into the bustling CIC. As he made his way through the CIC, towards the cockpit, Garrus couldn't help but be intrigued that none of the crew seemed to have a problem working with non-humans. Cerberus had long professed a manifesto that called for the dominance of humanity by any means necessary. Since he'd came aboard he'd never been insulted, all of the crew had been nothing but polite. Considering he was non-human and a Turian to boot, a race with who humanity had not had a good history, this had been a surprise. So were the conceptions about Cerberus wrong? That he doubted highly. He'd been frontline with Shepard when they'd touched down on Chasca, Ontarom, Noveria, Altahe, Depot Sigma-23, Edolus, Binthu and Nepheron. He'd seen the Cerberus everyone thought of with his own eyes: Experimenting on Rachni and Alliance Marines; turning innocent colonists into Husks, luring Marines to their deaths and eliminating anyone who asked too many questions. And, of course, whatever Jack had with them must be of a similar, dark nature. So why was it that these men and women he was serving alongside seemed the complete opposite to the numerous Cerberus agents and researchers he'd gunned down?

He would've continued mentally going over this problem in his head, had he not arrived at his destination. Looking down at Joker, who was scanning an extranet page in front of him, he began talking.

"Any word from Shepard?" It was an innocent enough question but the pilot nearly jumped straight out of the leather chair he loved so much. In a flash he'd closed the extranet page _"I wonder what was on there…" _Garrus thought to himself and then shook his head. _"Scratch that, I don't want to know."_

"What? Sorry, no." The flustered pilot said, still trying to calm himself. "Not since they hit Korlus." The pilot, his composure restored, turned to face the Turian. "You're not worried about Shepard are you? Because I mean, I could call him and say you're getting worried. I'm sure he'd be touched."

"Very funny Joker." Garrus replied. He'd known the pilot too long to get riled up by his comments when onboard. "And anyway, me? Worried about Shepard? What's a bunch of mercs going to do? Scratch his armor?"

"True. Does seem pretty unfair." The pilot conceded, looking back at the readouts on the screen in front of him. "I'm surprised the Blue Suns didn't run off when they saw him coming."

"Or Zaeed."

"Huh?" Once again he turned to look at Garrus.

"Imagine if Anderson suddenly turned up." His mandibles twitched slightly, the Turian equivalent of a smile, as Joker shuddered in his seat slightly. "See you around Joker." And with that he turned and began walking back down the corridor that led to the main body of the CIC.

Behind him Joker called back at him "If Anderson does show up, I call dibs on the nearest escape pod!"

Chuckling slightly, Garrus kept walking. He had some guns to calibrate.

* * *

><p><em>Back on Korlus…<em>

"Alright," Shepard said to his squad "The lab should just be beyond this door. Get ready, we still don't know what to expect from Okeer. Ready?" Three nods answered his question.

Pistol in hand, Shepard pressed the holographic display on the door and it slid open, revealing the lab. It was relatively spartan compared to other labs he had seen in his time. It was bare save for a tank, within which lay a fully-grown, fully armoured Krogan, a few tables, possibly for dissection of rejects, a bank of data collators at the far end of the room and a personal terminal. In front of that terminal stood the object of their mission here: Okeer. He was big, even by Krogan standards. The size of his hump spoke both of his long life and the success he had found within it. Remembering the file The Illusive Man had forwarded to him Shepard recalled that Okeer had fought in the Krogan Rebellions, making him over a thousand years old.

"There you are," the Warlord announced, his tone vaguely irritated. "It's about time. The batteries on these tanks will not wait while you play with these idiotic mercs."

"Okeer?" Shepard asked, somewhat superfluously. "You don't seem particularly caged." His tone hardened slightly at the way the Krogan was talking to him. "Or grateful that I'm here."

"You may claim to be here to help." Okeer replied, still staring at his terminal. "But the formerly deceased Shepard is not a sign of gentle change." He turned to finally face the commander. "Surprised? All Krogan should know you. Or have you forgotten your actions on Virmire?"

Shepard's eyes narrowed as he remembered that day. How he'd had to leave Kaidan, who had been a good friend and comrade aboard the original Normandy, behind to die in nuclear fire. How he'd been unable to stop Saren. When he spoke he spoke with conviction. "I didn't have a lot of room for finesse. If there'd been any other option I would've considered it."

"But I approve." Okeer answered, hands raised in a placatory gesture. "Saren's pale hoards were not true Krogan. Numbers alone are nothing. The mistake of an outsider, one that these mercenaries have also made." Okeer turned then, facing the lab window through which many tanks, identical to the one he stood next too, could be seen. "I gave their leader my rejects for her army but she grows impatient. It's time for you to take me out of here."

"Personal issues irrelevant." Mordin interrupted, his tone slightly hostile. "Here for intel on Collectors."

"I see." The old Krogan turned to face the Salarian. "Collector attacks have increased. A human concern, my requests were focused elsewhere." At this he indicated the occupied tank. "I acquired the knowledge to create one, pure, soldier. With that, I will inflict upon the Genophage the greatest insult an enemy can suffer." He turned to face Shepard then, fervour burning in his eyes. "To be ignored."

"Your methods may be extreme but you know how to deconstruct a threat." Shepard acknowledged begrudgingly. "Will you help us?"

"Perhaps I can strike a deal to secure passage. But my prototype is not negotiable. It is the key to my legacy."

Shepard was about to reply when the door he and his squad had come through clanged shut. Then, over the base's intercom system came the voice that had accompanied their battles through the dilapidated hulk, getting more and more annoying each time it had sounded until a point when even her own men were yelling at her to shut up. Looking through the lab window he finally saw its owner: Jedore. She was a short, mouse faced woman with a hair colour to match. Visibly agitated she strode amongst the tanks, speaking into her headset. "I'm calling 'blank slate' on this project, gas these commandoes and start over from Okeer's data. Flush the tanks!"

Almost in reply a valve in the lab sprung open and with a hissing sound white gas began pumping into the room.

"Well that's not good." Ethan said, deadpanning.

"She's that weak-willed?" Okeer asked to nobody in particular, his voice tinged with anger. "She'll kill my legacy with a damned valve!" At that he turned to Shepard. "You must stop her!"

"Surely you can just start over, like she plans to? What's the big deal?" Shepard asked the Krogan.

"You don't understand. This tank is pure; it involved as much trial as data. Starting over will not duplicate it. It must survive. Jedore will be with the rejected tanks. Kill her. I will…stay and do what must be done."

Without even acknowledging the Krogan scientist with a response Shepard and his squad drew their weapons and headed towards the only unlocked door, at the far side of the lab. Taking the stairs two at a time they headed down to the lower level. Bursting through the door they entered the main tank storage area.

"I want them dead." Jedore screamed from the opposite side of the room. "This is my world, I'll poison them all!"

"Is it me or is she really starting to seem just the tiniest bit crazy?" Ethan asked the rest of the squad, who didn't answer. He was about to say something else but then he saw a missile streaking towards him. Throwing himself behind one of the tanks he head the deafening explosion just a few metres away to his right. Looking back he saw Jedore's missile had blown a whole in the wall. "That was naughty." He said to himself with a slight smile on his face.

To his left Zaeed looked out from his cover behind another one of the tanks just in time to see a YMIR mech activate on the opposite side of the room. Pulling out his own Mantis sniper rifle and programming it to add a small electrical field to the rounds he sighted on the heavy mech's 'head'. Squeezing off a round he cursed as the mech, shields barely affected, returned fire with its chain gun, advancing while it so. Ducking back into cover the grizzled mercenary called out to Shepard.

"Shepard! We got a heavy mech incoming!"

Mordin also called out a warning. "Krogan berserkers awakening!"

Glancing out of cover Shepard saw that the Salarian spoke true, Jedore had somehow activated the rejected tanks and one by one the Krogan inside them were waking up, forcing their way out in some cases. In testament to their lineage they immediately drew weapons, ready to fight.

"Ethan, Zaeed! Take out that mech! Mordin, your with me. We'll take out those Krogan."

"Got it!" Ethan answered, sprinting over to Zaeed's position.

"Acknowledged." Mordin replied, falling in behind the Commander.

Sprinting forward, Shepard and Mordin threw themselves behind cover in the center of the room. As they began taking shots at the emerging Krogan, whilst avoiding rocket fire from the crazed Blue Suns commander, the YMIR turned its mechanical head towards them. Slowly the dual mass accelerator cannons that formed its right arm began to warm up, pointing straight at the exposed back of the former STG Agent. That could well have been the end of Mordin had Zaeed not fired another shot at the Mech, bringing down its shields and drawing his attention back at him.

"Keep doing that." Ethan said to Zaeed. "I'll try to get close and make that oversized toaster hurt."

"Gutsy plan." The mercenary responded and then a gleam came to his one natural eye. "I like it."

"Thought you would." The young man replied, a fiendish smile showing beneath the shadow of his hood. "If you would be so kind?" he finished with a mock air of formality before darting out of cover, running straight for the mech.

Grunting, Zaeed brought his sniper rifle to his shoulder. Looking down the sight he aimed at the mass of cables at the Mech's left shoulder. With a squeeze of the trigger he fired off a disruptor round. His aim was true and with a stuttering sound that was probably the equivalent of a scream in machine speak the cables in the shoulder joint fried, cutting off any connection from the mechs CPU to its missile launcher. Popping a sizzling heat sink and inserting a new one he launched a concussive shot at the mech. The kinetic force of the round's explosion wasn't enough to topple the mech but it did send it staggering backwards. Which was all the time Ethan needed.

Running forward, the folds of his greatcoat spreading out behind him like the wings of some great bird that rests on the thermal currents of the air, until it sights its prey with its keen eyes and hurtles to the ground, granting grim death with its sharp talons and crooked beak, Ethan switched his guns into single-shot mode. Due to the modified nature of the weapons the rounds expelled from its barrel were powered by the same amount of energy used to fire ten shots in full auto. As Zaeed's concussive shot sent the mech reeling back Ethan jumped, using a dead krogan, whose armor had been perforated by Shepard's assault rifle and scorched by Mordin's incineration techs, as a springboard. Stretching out his legs he struck the mech square in the middle of its chest with both booted feet. The kinetic dampeners he'd had installed in the soles of his boots took care of a lot of the damage but as he and the mech fell he knew he'd be feeling that in the morning.

Falling atop the heavy mech he brought his guns to bear. Placing them straight against its faceplate he fired point-blank into its CPU. The mech shuddered once and was still. Leaping from its still form he was about to offer some witty remark when he heard a frenzied beeping coming from the mangled wreckage of the YMIR mech's CPU. Slowly light began to coarse across its form as its power source began to go into meltdown.

"Oh shiit!" He yelled, sprinting away as fast as he could. "Shepard! Mordin! Get to cover!"

Turning from the Krogan he was facing, which was turned into a smouldering mass thanks to the efforts of the Salarian professor, Shepard recognised the danger. Alerting Mordin to it, he too began running. As he ran as fast as he could from the glowing machine, across which bolts of yellow electricity were spreading, a rejected Krogan burst forth from one of the last occupied tanks. The Krogan had been imprinted with visions of battle after battle, the greatest strategies of the greatest Krogan Warlords, who had been the galaxy's saviours during The Rachni Wars and its scourge during The Rebellions, had been pumped into its head. But it had not EARNED that knowledge. Everything the human that hurtled towards knew, he had earned. He was Commander Shepard. He had been born on an Alliance Cruiser; he'd stood firm at Elysium during the Skyllian Blitz and held the line against vastly superior numbers. He was quite possibly the finest soldier of his generation. And a newborn Krogan would NOT stop him. Grasping the Shotgun and pulling it from the small of his back he cocked it and as the Krogan charged he sighted on the plate that formed its forehead. Just before it impacted with him he squeezed the trigger. The Krogan flew backwards, its head a pulpy mass of flesh that twitched as it tried to regen before falling still. Throwing himself behind cover, Mordin flying in beside him, Shepard awaited the coming explosion. Ethan leapt into an open pod and Zaeed took cover behind another just as the mech finally reached overload capacity and exploded.

First came noise. A sound that tore through their ears like the loudest thunder in a storm so powerful it awakens the primal fear within all living things. Then came a feeling of immense pressure as air was literally forced away from the exploding carcass. It slammed the squad against their meagre cover and finally there was the heat. The exploding mech caused an onrush of heat so powerful that it reminded Ethan of the forge back on Seheros, when the blade he carried at his side had been forged from the dull grey alloy, but multiplied so many times over. The heat spread throughout the room, not respecting cover or location. Then finally came the fragments, flying through the air like miniature comets with tails of flame, spelling grim death to any who was not in cover. A Krogan, who Mordin had thought dead, regenned enough only to be struck dead by a large jagged piece of blackened metal went straight through its neck.

Slowly, carefully, the team got out of, or in Ethan's case dropped out of, cover. Assembling in the center of the room they surveyed the damage. Closest to where the mech had fallen the breeding tanks were now small bits of blackened metal and plastic. Metal nearest the explosion had melted and deformed, altered by the intense heat of the explosion. Further out the devastation lessened but even at the furthest edge of the room that heat still remained, a dank mugginess that covered all.

"Are all enemies neutralised?" Mordin asked the rest of the group.

"Seems like it." Shepard replied, scanning the room. "I can't see-"

'THIS IS MY WORLD!"

Screaming, with hair bedraggled and her armor blackened and charred in places, Jedore rose up from behind a ruined breeding tank, clutching her rocket launcher in a vice-like grip. Screaming manically she fired, sending a rocket, with its deadly payload of high explosive, straight at the squad. Scattering, they dove into the nearest bit of cover they could find.

"I AM IN COMMAND HERE! YOU WILL DO AS I BID!" Jedore railed at the men who had brought 'her world' to ruin.

Knelt behind a dead Krogan, Zaeed had finally had enough. "Somebody shut that bitch up!" he called out to his comrades.

"Glad to!"

The reply came from Ethan, who, putting away his guns and drawing his blade from its scabbard, stood up from behind his bit of cover, his body aglow with the telltale light of biotic energy and his eyes glowing a burning white. Coating himself in the blue energy, he rose into the air and sped towards the merc commander at a breakneck speed. He smashed into Jedore, overloading her already kinetic barriers, cracking her chestplate and sending her flying against the wall. As the biotic fires died from his limbs and his eyes returned to their natural blue, Ethan stared down unompassionately at the downed merc leader. Her breathing ragged, Jedore raised her rocket launcher, pointing it straight at Ethan's chest.

"I don't think so." Ethan said coldly. With a flick of his wrist he cut through the barrel of the launcher, sending it skittering from the beaten woman's hands across the floor.

Defiantly the beaten mercenary stared at her killer. "This is my world…you are nothing!" Her words came as a raspy whisper, evidence of the impact driving the air from her lungs.

With a smirk, Ethan replied. "Not very classy for somebody's dying words." And with that he administered with a powerful thrust to her heart. Jedore's eyes widened as she stared at the length of shining metal jutting from her torso. Then her eyes rolled upwards and with one last juddering sigh Jedore's life ended.

As he walked over to where Shepard and the others were standing in the center of the room, Ethan received a curious look from the Commander.

"You're a biotic?" He asked the blonde fighter, who had pushed back his hood.

"Yeh." Came Ethan's reply, accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders.

"And you never thought to mention that?" Shepard's tone rose slightly, irritated at the fact he'd been kept in the dark about military matters.

"You never asked." Ethan replied.

Shepard was about to reply when a blaring alarm echoed from the lab above them.

"What the hell?" Zaeed exclaimed.

"_Commander," _It was EDI_ 'the lab alarms coincided with a systems failure. The remaining lab systems are unprotected and I have gained limited access," _

"What's happening?" Shepard asked, urgent in his tone.

"_According lab scanners, the room is flooded with toxins and Okeer's personal life signs are failing rapidly. I recommend haste."_

With no orders needed the four operatives raced from the room to the lab. As they got to the top of the stairs the automated voice of a VI silenced the alarms.

_"Contamination detected. Emergency vent in progress. Contamination detected. Emergency vent in progress."_

Practically bursting through the door, Shepard and his squad beheld the sight of Okeer dead on the floor, next to the tank he had worked so diligently to create. Moving towards the fallen Krogan, Shepard couldn't help but feel a bit conflicted about the Krogan's death.

"_Sure he was an unfeeling, possibly insane, zealot. But is it right that a creature who survived for so long, through the most turbulent years of his race's history, should be brought down by poison gas, triggered by a deluded, narcissistic madwoman?"_

Shaking away such thoughts he turned to the matter at hand. As he drew closer to the body of the once great warlord a recorded message on the terminal next to the tank started playing. Okeer's voiced was weakening and pained as he recorded his final words.

"You gave me time, Shepard. If I knew why the Collectors wanted humans, I would tell you. But everything is in my prototype. My legacy is pure. This… one soldier, this grunt. Perfect…"

With the last few words, Okeer's face on the image slipped away as his great strength had failed him. Slowly, the squad gathered around the tank Okeer had given his very life to preserve.

"Okeer died to save this thing?" Zaeed asked incredulously.

"Apparently," Ethan replied. "You wouldn't think that someone like him, you know the whole 'no price too great for my triumph' guy, would go down the self-sacrifice route."

"I can't say I'm surprised," Shepard said. "Given how fanatical he was about this one and how much he sacrificed for it, he was probably capable of anything."

Mordin shook his head. "Delusional. Unlikely one krogan, however strong, could have impact Okeer wanted," he said, but then he hesitated. "Am… almost certain." At that he turned to Shepard "Suggest leaving it."

Shepard tilted his head at the Salarian. "Afraid he'll make your genophage obsolete?" he asked.

"No," Mordin said in a neutral, yet final, tone. "But krogan genetically dangerous. Socially dangerous as well. Have enough enemies without adding this."

"I fought scores of Krogan in my time," Zaeed chimed in. "He could be useful."

"Unknown until awakened. Could be too late at that point." Mordin argued.

"I know the advantage of having a Krogan on the team" responded Shepard, thinking back to his hunt for Saren and his time spent with Wrex, the Krogan Battlemaster. He remembered his skill in battle and the camaraderie he showed off the field.

"Great. We're going to take the possibly fanatical, perfect Krogan with us." Ethan spoke, his words dripping with sarcasm. "And to think I used to wonder why I had such a hard time getting good medical insurance." Then he looked directly at Shepard. "You do realize we're all talking about this like it's a given he'll join us. Nobody's asked his opinion."

"Then we'll ask. Nicely or not-so-nicely depending on the situation," Shepard said, ending the discussion. Tapping his omni-tool, he contacted Joker on the Normandy.

"Normandy? Okeer is a no-go. But we have a package that needs retrieval." As he talked he looked back at the breeding tank. "And he's a big one."

* * *

><p><em>Back on the Normandy...<em>

Shepard walked out of the port side cargo hold, fresh from talking with the newly awakened, newly named, Grunt. It had been a rough first contact. Practically as soon as he'd got out of his pod Grunt had slammed into a wall, demanding to know what his own name was and for Shepard to assert his dominance and destroy him. As he walked, Shepard rubbed at his neck.

Convincing Grunt to join him had actually been quite simple. All the young Krogan, whose brow plate hadn't even fully developed, had needed to know was that their enemies were strong and plentiful and that the Normandy was a strong 'clan'. With that he had released his hold and began settling in to the relative shambles of the port side cargo hold.

As he headed towards the elevator, Ken Donnelly, one of the Normandy's chief engineers, stepped out of it, a small drink in hand. He had only really talked with the Scotsman, as well as the other chief engineer, Gabriella Daniels, once, during his inspection tour, but he liked the Scot. He was solid and dependable, good at his job and amicable to practically anyone, save for the Alliance Brass and the Collectors.

Raising a hand in a small, borderline informal, salute, Ken greeted Shepard, before glancing uneasily through two sets of windows into the port side cargo hold, where Grunt could be seen pacing, and walking through the entrance to Engineering proper.

Glancing down into the hangar bay, Shepard was just in the right position to see Ethan press the open button on his door, before rubbing his hands with glee and going inside the storage room he had taken as his own. Figuring he'd find out eventually, Shepard got into the elevator and pressed the button for the loft and his quarters, where his personal terminal lay, ready to be used to write the mission report.

"God, I hate bureaucracy." he thought to himself, as the elevator moved steadily upwards.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: Sorry for this update taking so long folks. Life got in the way. Hopefully updates will take less time in future. Just in case you were wondering, if dialogue written down doesn't perfectly match up to the game that's because I couldn't be bothered playing through every combination of characters to find out what they say. Anyway, hope you enjoy and remember: reviews mean motivation. Motivation means quicker updates. <strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: The Anger of a Good Man**

_Aboard the Normandy…_

Awaking after a few hours, Shepard cast aside his bed sheets. The Normandy was now heading towards the Citadel, the heart of galactic society; there to pick up the last of the specialists he currently had dossiers for and to answer a call from Anderson. Padding across the floor in naught but a pair of night trousers he pressed the feeding button on his fish tank and went to his private washroom. As he showered he began thinking about the members of his squad he had recruited so far. In his mind he turned over what he knew about them, their strengths and their weaknesses.

Mordin, the Salarian professor, was a good member of the team. His quick mind, as well as the military training from his time in the Salarian Special Tasks Group, enabled him to read and react well on the battlefield and his medical knowledge was a bonus. As he had gathered from his interactions with Mordin, his work of creating a counter-measure to the Collectors' 'seeker swarms' seemed to be moving apace, if not yet complete. Yet the fact he had progressed thus far, with only a small tech lab and a modicum of available data, spoke of the Salarian's genius.

Shepard's mind then turned to his old teammate and, to an extent, pupil Garrus. He clearly recalled the shock and elation he'd felt upon finding out that HE was Archangel. In the two years since his…death…Garrus had matured from the slightly naïve young C-Sec Officer into the pragmatic vigilante he was now. But through all the changes, both mental and physical, he still retained both his devotion to justice and his quick wit. Shepard knew that, whatever the destination, Garrus would be there.

Stepping from the shower, hair dripping, he picked up his old-fashioned straight razor. It had been given to him by his late father, Captain Lucas Shepard of the SSV Valletta, upon his graduation from Alliance Boot Camp. It was a beautiful piece, the blade made of high quality Damascus steel and with a handle of polished Oak, upon which was inscribed, and picked out in gold paint, the words _"Courage is not the absence of fear, it is the knowledge something is more important."_ As he ran the finely honed, across his jaw line, Shepard continued thinking about the specialists he had recruited.

Next he began thinking about the veteran mercenary, Zaeed. He may be gruff and Shepard didn't approve with some of his methods, such as destroying the refinery on Zorya, but he was decent enough. Good in a fight as well and possessing what seemed to Shepard almost supernatural good luck. The number of times his stories of past missions, which Shepard listened to down in the Starboard Cargo hold, that ended with the words "Only I got out alive" beggared belief.

Shepard grimaced slightly as his mind turned to the convict, Jack. She was not a team player under any circumstances; hell she was outright hostile to everyone. From what he'd gathered in their sporadic talks she'd obviously had a tough life but something grated at him about her. If it weren't for her tremendous biotic power then he'd have kicked her off the team. He'd keep trying of course, his father would spin in his grave if he gave up on any member of his squad, but it didn't mean he had to like it.

Grunt, from their brief chat the 'day' before, seemed to be…interesting. Sure he was as Krogan as a Krogan could be but there was something 'different' about him. He'd felt the same in his dealings with Wrex. There was a deeper facet to this Krogan, rather than just the normal thuggish mentality many of his race displayed. He would have to see how this new Krogan developed.

His mind then focused on the blonde fighter, Ethan. He was skilled, there was no doubt about that, but there was a hell of a lot of unknowns about him. When they'd got back from Korlus, after waking up Grunt and filling out his mission report, he'd got back to reading the intel file on him. He'd watched the vids of him saving the Turian General Hararn, once running after the assassin and decapitating him in one blow. Then he'd gone further back, gaining brief references to _Morokaz _in the Batarian Pit Fighter registries. His VI translator supplied the translation as an ancient Batarian spirit of death, who killed all who his eyes rested on. And before that was…nothing, not one thing. That was until a registry for a colony ship turned up his name, as a child of four accompanying his parents. He'd said he'd been in training since then but trained by whom? Pushing aside those concerns, he set aside his razor, his shave completed.

Then, as he left the washroom and put on his casual clothing which consisted of a black pair of trousers, boots, black shirt and orange over-jacket, his mind turned to the two Cerberus operatives on his ground team.

First there was Miranda. She was a total professional, unsocial to the point of seeming aloof and well just…_cold._ The fact that when they'd first had a real conversation, aboard the station he'd been taken too to meet with The Illusive Man at, she'd admitted that she'd wanted to implant a bloody control chip into his head made him a bit wary of the Cerberus operative. But then again, she was a professional and The Illusive Man had given her a job to do. As long as those orders didn't change he was fine.

Jacob, the other Cerberus operative, was all right in his eyes. He seemed solid, dependable and a little happier to be taking orders from him than Miranda seemed to be. The fact he was part of Cerberus seemed to be becoming increasingly irrelevant as it appeared he had joined not due to any hate towards aliens but just, as was becoming increasingly apparent throughout his dealings with the Normandy team, a desire to actually DO something about the state of the Galaxy. Hell, Ash had had more reservations about serving alongside aliens than the supposedly human supremacist operatives he found himself serving alongside.

Shepard paused as he stepped out of his cabin, remembering the woman he'd fought beside and…cared for. He remembered their first meeting on Eden Prime, amid the fighting, the Geth and the dead. He remembered the chase after Saren, her at his side, each growing ever closer to the other. Then that almost moment whilst the Normandy was grounded. Before finally, that night on route to Ilos. He still remembered it vividly, the feel and scent of her skin, her lips touching his. Shaking his head free of the memories, Shepard strode into the elevator and made his way into the body of his ship, as it made its way through the boundless reaches of space.

* * *

><p>Stepping into the mess hall, Shepard walked up to the kitchen area. Nodding his greeting at Gardner, who was currently juggling between three different batches of reconstituted, scrambled, eggs, he picked up a tray and helped himself to the reconstituted eggs, vat-grown bacon and toast, the only thing on the Normandy that was actually homemade. Then he grabbed some cutlery and a mug, which he filled with coffee, that he then weakened slightly by adding some previously powdered milk.<p>

Striding over to an empty table, Shepard sat down and began eating. The eggs, as always, were bland and whilst the coffee and, to a lesser extent, the bacon more than made up for it Shepard couldn't help but be bemused by the quality of the food.

"_They spent four billion credits on bringing me back to life. The Normandy was state of the art __before __it was upgraded so why is it that a group that has so much disposable income can't afford decent food?" _He thought to himself as he wolfed down the bacon and eggs, occasionally taking a sip from the mug of coffee by his side. Emptying the tray, Shepard deposited it in the pile that was forming at the end of the kitchen worktop and refilled his coffee mug.

Turning to return to his seat and catch up on galactic news via his omnitool, he noticed Ethan sitting at another table. He was dressed in his usual outfit, save for the black greatcoat and sleeveless jacket, and was reading something on a datapad, his feet resting on the table. _"Might as well talk to him. We've not really had a chance to yet."_

Ethan saw him approach and took his boots off the table, much to Gardner's muted relief.

"Need something Shepard?" He asked, looking up at the Commander.

"Just want to talk Ethan." Shepard replied, taking the seat opposite the young man.

Ethan's gaze shifted then, turning inward for but a moment, then his gaze turned back to Shepard. "Sure, why not." He answered, putting down and locking the datapad.

"What's that?" Shepard asked, nodding at the datapad.

"That? Oh, I've just been doing a little digging on you. I figure you're doing the same, right?"

"Yeah." Shepard replied, glancing momentarily at the datapad that detailed his life. "How about you tell me what you know and I'll put in what's missing and answer any questions."

"Alright. Hell, I'll return the favor." Ethan paused then, collecting his thoughts. "You were born in 2154, April 11th, on the SSV Montreal, to Hannah and Lucas Shepard. Your father was Captain of the Valletta before dying in the Attican Traverse when the Valletta was attacked and boarded by a pirate fleet under the command of Batarian 'Pirate Lord' Sorek Bakreg, who was later killed when reinforcements from the 12th Fleet showed up. Your mother currently holds the rank of Captain aboard the SSV Orizaba.

You graduated from Alliance boot camp with flying colours and were sent for N7 training, which you excelled at. During your time in the service your unit was stationed on Elysium during the Skyllian Blitz. The rest of your unit was helping to evacuate non-combatants when a Batarian mercenary platoon showed up and began moving towards your position. Ordering your men to keep evac-ing the civilians and wounded you climbed a ruined business tower and held off the platoon. 35 confirmed kills. You were awarded the Medal of Honor for your service and have been lauded throughout the Alliance for your actions. Later you were assigned as XO of the Normandy SR-1 and became the first human Spectre." Ethan paused again. "Then details get a bit more sketchy, a string of unrelated incidents on various planets, you fought alongside a STG team on Virmire, you stole the Normandy when it was docked in the Citadel and later emerged out of nowhere during the Battle of The Citadel. You commanded Admiral Hackett of the 5th Fleet to assist the Destiny Ascension and you also killed rogue Spectre Saren Arterius."

"You seem to know a lot of things that aren't in the public eye." Shepard interjected, suddenly wary as to how it was this man knew so much classified data.

Ethan replied, with an enigmatic smile. "I have my sources."

Though he still felt a bit disconcerted about the young man's knowledge of him, Shepard masked that feeling. "So, any questions?'' he asked genially.

"Just one." Ethan answered, taking a sip of strong, black, coffee. "Why is it that the Alliance declared you K.I.A? Unless this case of death is taking a long time to set in you seem plenty alive to me."

Shepard's mind flew unbidden back to the space above Alchera, the Normandy destroyed, getting Joker into the escape pod, then the explosion. Pain. Then terror as he realised the pressure seals were damaged, the darkness, screaming into the pitiless vacuum.

"Shepard?" Ethan's voice ripped him back into the here and now.

"I was dead." Shepard said, with as much casualness as a man would remark upon the weather. "Cerberus found my remains and rebuilt me."

Ethan paused then, as if looking at Shepard with new eyes.

"What?" Shepard asked, in response to the staring.

Ethan shook himself out of it. "I was looking for the bolt through your neck."

"Very funny." Shepard replied, a slight smile betraying the look of annoyance on his face. "As far as I know it took four billion credits" Ethan whistled at that " and two years to bring me back. Any other questions?"

"Nope." Then Ethan sat back in his chair and linked both hands behind his head. "So, what do you know about dear old me?"

"Well as far as I can tell you were born in 2159, to a certain Duncan and Clara Farrows. At age four you were aboard the MSV Valiant, which went missing on a mission to Secora IX. Twenty years later you show up again in a few references to a pit fighter named _Morokaz_." Shepard noticed Ethan's genial expression harden slightly and quickly moved on. "Then your actions start getting a bit random. You serve as bodyguard to the Turian General Hararn of the Seventh Legion, saving his life five times that we know of. Then there are numerous reports across both Council Space and the Terminus Systems of a black-hooded assassin. That was you I take it?"

"What can I say?" Ethan replied, spreading his arms in a 'what can you do?' gesture, "People have the annoying habit of running when targeted for assassination."

"Then you end up on Omega, working for Aria T'Loak. And that's as much as we have."

"So what d'ya want to know?"

"Well I guess the first thing is what happened during those twenty years that we don't know about?" Shepard asked, holding up his hand to forestall and answer. "I know you said you were in training but where? Who by?"

"Well that's a few more questions than I asked you but," Ethan paused then, before sighing. "The Valiant crashed after suffering extensive damage in a solar storm. I was the only survivor. I was found by a Hanar who for the next twenty years developed and trained my hand-to-hand, melee, small arms and biotic skills. Then, after twenty years, a gang of scavengers killed him. I killed them and took their ship. For a fair few months I was a pit fighter in the Hegemony. I…got out and began my career as a gun-for-hire."

"I see." Shepard responded, assimilating this new information. "Really? A Hanar?" he asked then, slightly disbelieving the young man.

"Disbelief coming from the guy who was brought back from the dead?"

That got a laugh out of Shepard. "Fair enough."

"So," Ethan asked, looking up from the brown, steaming liquid in his mug. "Did you see anything? You know, after you...had an intimate relationship with the vacuum of space?" That made Shepard smile, oddly.

"Why?" Shepard responded, sitting back in his chair. "You religious?" It was a shoddy deflection from a subject he didn't want to talk about and he knew that Ethan had picked up on it, he could see it in his eyes. Thankfully he didn't push it. In fact he laughed.

"Me? No. Well, not really. When I was in training my master had me train my mind as well as my body. It's kinda hard to believe when you know upward of fifty philosophical arguments against religion. However, if I had to believe in a higher power, I would say that either God or The Gods have gone senile after such a long time and so all they spend their time and total cosmic power doing is messing with our lives." Ethan then drained his coffee mug. "You religious?"

"No," Shepard paused then and his eyes seemed to defocus as he remembered the bygone days before his death. "But I...knew someone who was."

"I take it you mean Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams? Though I'd hardly say 'knowing' aptly describes your relationship." Ethan asked and it was lucky that Shepard hadn't been drinking then, or Ethan would've been sprayed with regurgitated coffee.

"How the hell do you know about that?" He practically demanded, his tone edging ever closer to anger. Not just at Ethan, but also at whoever, be it Joker, Garrus or even Chakwas, had told him.

"So it is true." Ethan said, a triumphant smile spreading across his sun-bronzed face. "Always like to have suspicions confirmed."

Shepard's expression turned from borderline anger to confusion in an instant. "What?"

"When I was doing a little, ahem, 'digging'." Ethan explained, holding up the datapad before setting it down again. "One of the things I took a look at was the Shepard Memorial Service on Elysium. Very touching, though it was plain Councillor Anderson had been given a few extra paragraphs to say than he wanted. Most of your crew from your 'Saren Days' were there: Garrus, the Asari Liara, Miss Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, Joker and Chakwas and, of course, Chief Williams. Though everyone, save Miss Zorah, whose face I couldn't read for obvious reasons, did look genuinely upset, Chief Williams looked practically distraught. Of course any lesser observer would've seen her and've seen grief held in check by military training but, as has been said by kings and queens throughout history, I am not a lesser observer. I knew, well 90% certain, that that veneer of well-controlled sadness was a front. She wanted to appear to be holding back the same amount of sadness and despair as her colleagues, whilst in fact she was truly distraught."

"You can really tell all that from looking at someone's expression?" Shepard asked, incredulously.

"Yup. Just like I could tell that you were one very controlled trigger switch from putting me into the nearest wall earlier." He continued across Shepard's hurried denial. "It proved very helpful in my previous lines of work. Searching a crowd for assailants, searching for the weakest or most distracted bodyguard and so on."

At that point Ethan's omnitool flared into life. Quickly, his gaze snapped to it. "Well it was nice talking to you Shepard." He said, getting to his feet. "Hope we can do it again sometime. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go do some training."

As he was just about to turn the corner Shepard called out one last question. "Ethan? One last thing. Why do you-" Ethan finished the question before Shepard could.

"Why do I dress like I just walked off the set of a cheesy 20th Century swashbuckling movie?" Shepard nodded. "Well there's two reasons. One is that these clothes were given to me as a parting gift from my master." It was the truth, but not the whole truth.

"And what's the second reason?"

To that Ethan ran a hand through his golden locks. "I look damn good." Then, as Shepard shook his head, a smile playing across his features, Ethan put his right index and middle fingers to his right temple and threw them forward in an informal salute, before striding from the Mess Hall.

It was at that point that Shepard's own omnitool stirred. Looking down, he saw it was a message from Jacob up in the Armory. Getting up from his chair, he noticed Garrus walking out of the Forward Batteries.

"Hey Garrus, you eaten?" He called out to the Turian, who looked up at Shepard's voice.

"Yeah, I ate already. Thank the spirits I had some MREs around, I don't trust Gardner's cooking enough."

"I can hear you y'know Turian." Gardner stated, from behind the galley counter, sounding slightly hurt.

"Gardner, you burnt _chalae_." Garrus replied, as if that settled the matter.

"Well it was my first time making it." Gardner explained defensively, standing up again.

"Gardner, _chalae _is a cold dish."

"Oh." Was Gardner's only reply.

"Anyway," Shepard continued, trying to salvage his conversation with Garrus whilst suppressing a smile. "We just got a new shipment in from The Illusive Man, wanna go check it out?"

"Sure," Garrus replied and so the two comrades walked towards the elevator.

* * *

><p>Barely a minute later they both strode into the armory. Upon their entry Jacob looked up from the table that dominated the room. Nodding his greetings, he waved the two of them over. Upon the table lay one of the new sniper rifles The Illusive Man had had shipped to the Normandy, unfolded in combat form, as well as datapads detailing the weapon's schematics.<p>

"The M-29 Incisor." Jacob explained, passing the rifle to Shepard, who in turn passed it to Garrus. "One of the new line of Military and Police Sniper Rifles, made to effectively bring down kinetic barriers better than any rifles before. The rifle fires mass accelerated rounds in three round bursts. The current generation of heat sinks allow for five bursts before a replacement is needed. According to the company who manufactured them, all three rounds will be in the target before the barrel moves a millimetre."

Whilst he was saying this, Garrus was turning the rifle over and over in his hands, like an artisan checking for imperfections in his work or a musician checking their instruments before a gig. He checked the sights were aligned perfectly, felt the total weight of the weapon in his hands, pressed the butt of the rifle into his shoulder to get the feel of it and finally felt the trigger resistance, squeezing it twice.

"Does it pass inspection, Garrus?" Jacob asked, always accepting Garrus' opinion on all the rifles they picked up, seeing as his own experience with them was weak in comparison.

His examination complete, Garrus laid the rifle down on the table, folding it back into its stand-by position, before looking up at Jacob.

"It does and with flying colours." he answered, mandibles flexing slightly in the Turian equivalent of a grin. "I'll use it next time we head out. Put it through its paces."

"Somehow I figured you would Garrus." Shepard said, arms folded. "I mean hell, it even matches your armor colours." Then his head turned to its side and he grinned. "Well, I'd have to put a few bullet holes in it first to make it a _perfect_ match."

"_Ha ha _Shepard." Garrus replied sarcastically, before turning to Jacob. "Is that everything Jacob?"

"You're not interested in checking the new pistols are you?"

"Spirits no." Garrus replied, invoking the beings he believed in, mostly when he was out of heatsinks and his opponent wasn't.

"Then yeah, we're done." Jacob replied, smiling slightly.

"Then if you'll excuse me." And with that he turned and started walking towards the door to the CIC.

"Calibrations Garrus?" Shepard asked in a needling tone "You know if you do that too often you'll go blind."

Garrus kept walking, waving aside Shepard's jibe as if was a noisy insect. As the door closed behind him Shepard turned back to Jacob.

"Anyway, let's see these pistols."

In response Jacob walked over to a workbench and brought a black and white pistol back to the main table.

"The M-5 Phalanx." He explained, handing the pistol to Shepard. "A highly accurate and lethal sidearm. Effective against armor; weak against shields and biotic barriers. The M5 Phalanx is the product of the Alliance's Offensive Handgun Project that developed a close-in weapon to be used on armored or shielded targets with no loss of stopping power in comparison to the soldier's assault rifle. The Phalanx enjoys a ballistics advantage even over most "hand cannons" and features an integral laser sight, which is highly visible even in bright lighting conditions. Civilian variants are often purchased by colonists on planets that have particularly dangerous big game animals."

Shepard looked up from his inspection of the pistol. "Where'd that come from?" He asked, an eyebrow cocked.

Jacob held up a datapad in answer. "Instruction manual's opening paragraph." That elicited a bark of laughter from Shepard.

Shepard then proceeded, with military precision, to carry out the, where appropriate, exact same checks Garrus had. He felt the weight and strain on his wrists when it was in a firing position; he made sure that the laser sight was aligned perfectly and then he felt the trigger resistance, squeezing the trigger of the unloaded pistol twice.

"Commander?" Jacob asked, waiting for Shepard's reaction.

"Not bad. Have one put into my load-out." Shepard said, putting the Phalanx back on the table and loading up his omni-tool. His fingers tapping the holographic controls, he sent out a message to Jack, Miranda and Miranda, asking if they wanted one added to their own load-outs. "And one each for Miranda and Mordin." Jack had said no and kept her old Carnifex pistol due to "She wanted to and it was none of Shepard's business why."

"Got it."

At that point Joker's voice came over the ship's P.A. _"Commander? We're about to hit the relay to the Citadel. Might want to get your armor on, unless the Council's gone informal."_

"Got it Joker." Shepard replied to the empty air and then turned to leave.

"Want me to come along Shepard?" Jacob asked after him.

"Take a Cerberus agent to a meeting with the Council?" Shepard asked. "Though it appeals to see the look on Udina's face, it's probably no the best idea." And with that he walked out the door.

* * *

><p><em>2 hours later…<em>

As the elevator doors opened onto the main room of the CIC, Ethan felt a brush of air as he stepped out. Turning slightly his eyes roved over the seemingly empty elevator, searching for…_something_. He had a strange sensation that something was there; it was the same sensation, the same instinct, which had usually heralded something with sharp teeth and a big appetite leaping out at him from behind a bush. Shaking his head, he turned back to CIC. Walking over to the workstation next to the Galaxy map he leant against the table.

"Hey Kelly," He said as the Yeoman looked up. "How are things?"

"Oh, hello Ethan." Kelly responded, "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

"You got time to talk? Or is Shepard running you ragged?"

She smiled slightly at that, and Ethan couldn't help but notice that she had a _dazzling _smile, one that lit up her entire face. "I've got some time. I have to stay here though, just in case something comes up."

"Fine with me." Ethan replied, his own mouth curling upwards slightly.

And so they talked, about anything. They talked about her growing up on Terra Nova, along with her mother and sister, Rachel, who had opened a rescue shelter for Dogs there. They talked about how she'd gotten a degree in both human and xeno-psychology.

"Really?" Ethan said in response to this, cocking an eyebrow. "Should I be worried that you're analysing everything I say then?"

"No," Kelly answered, and then she continued in a more playful tone. "Well not _now _anyway."

"Oh ho," Ethan replied with a laugh "a challenge eh?" he then adopted an upper class British accent "Very well Miss Chambers, I shall endeavour to figure out when you are analysing my every move, twitch and enunciation."

And so their conversation carried on in the same, playful manner. When it came to his turn to answer questions he didn't lie about his past, but nor did he tell her the _entire _truth. He told he'd been orphaned at four and raised by a Hanar, which had interested her.

"A Hanar?" She asked, genuinely surprised. "What was that like?"

"It was good," Ethan's eyes then took on a far-away look. "He was tough but fair."

"Tough?" Kelly was confused, all she'd ever seen of Hanar were the ultra-polite diplomats and merchants spread out across the Galaxy. "How so?"

"Well, he trained me as well. If I got something wrong that would've cost me in real life he dosed me with the neuro-poison they naturally create." To illustrate, Ethan rolled down part of his shirt collar, showing an indent on the skin of his neck where it met his shoulder.

"Oh." Kelly looked shocked. "Did that hurt?"

Ethan rolled his collar back up. "Like hell. But he never did it maliciously, it was to reinforce the idea that everything has consequences." His face took back its usual boyish look. "And anyway, I supposed it did have positive aspects. I now how a reasonable amount of immunity to most poisons and venoms. The most potent will still put me on my back for weeks, but at least I wont die. Hopefully."

"Hopefully?"

"Strange as it might seem, I'm not in a great hurry to start chugging poisons." He smiled again then. "But at least I don't have to worry as much about how well puffer fish is prepared."

That elicited a small laugh from Kelly. "So what happened to him, the Hanar?"

As quick as a lightning flash, she saw Ethan's eyes grow cold. It was if banked fires smouldered behind those blue eyes, ready to erupt. "He died." Was his only response. "After his death I packed up our home and went to meet the Galaxy."

Almost unconsciously she began to analyse that. _"Obviously his guardian's death is a sore subject for him. The way his eyes suddenly changed like that shows he still feels anger over it, so it's highly likely his death wasn't a natural one." _ She caught herself in time to respond. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. So, tell me, why did you join Cerberus? You don't exactly seem the most anti-alien person I've seen. In fact you seem quite the opposite."

She was about to tell Ethan what she'd told Shepard when Shepard himself came back onboard the Normandy, Garrus and Mordin trailing in behind him. As he rounded the CIC and headed towards the elevator, not even bothering to drop his weapons off in the armory as Mordin and Garrus were, she side stepped Ethan and moved to talk to him, to fill him in on what had come into his message box, which she'd been keeping one eye on during her conversation with Ethan.

"Commander, you have-" She began but Shepard cut her off before she could finish.

"Not now Kelly!" He barked at her, anger obvious in the set of his shoulders and his gait. The sudden and unprecedented display of anger stunned the young Yeoman, as well as everybody in earshot, including Joker, thanks to having access to the ships audio system, into silence, making her meekly return to her post as the Commander got into the elevator.

Then she felt a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"You alright Kelly?" Ethan asked, his voice warm and reassuring.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Came the shaky, uncertain response. She was genuinely shocked by the anger and venom the Commander had displayed. He'd never shown the slightest indication of such rage before.

"I'll just be a minute." And with that Ethan's hand withdrew and, turning, she saw him stride to the elevator, a determined look on his face.

* * *

><p>Shepard threw his armor into its locker, abandoning his military training and years of habit in his anger, and pulled on his casual ship wear.<p>

"Damn it!" He yelled, slamming a fist into the wall in frustration.

He'd gone to see Cap- Councillor Anderson after recruiting Kasumi Goto and getting a few things from the Zakera Ward's markets. When he'd walked in he'd walked into a full council meeting. Not only had the Council vehemently denied Sovereign's true origins as a Reaper, with the ever willing Turian Councillor Valern leading the charge on his claims, but they'd almost declared him, the man who'd saved their sorry asses two years ago, a traitor for working with Cerberus! Luckily Anderson had put paid to that idea. And then, in true Council fashion, they'd offered an empty conciliation by giving him _back _his Spectre status. And to top it all, after the meeting Anderson, his own friend, had stonewalled him about Ash's location. Of course he'd acted diplomatically, accepting the Council's offer gratefully and shrugging off Anderson's unwillingness to reveal Ash's location, but still, how could the Council be so stupid! How could they flatly deny evidence put in front of them. They'd done it with Saren, until he'd brought them Tali's evidence, and now they were doing it with the Reapers! How could they-

His train of thought was derailed by the sound of his door opening. Looking up he saw Ethan striding in, boots slamming into the metal of the floor.

"What the hell was that Shepard!" He demanded, his voice harsh, accusatory.

"Not now Ethan." He growled back, turning his back to him.

"Yes. Now." Ethan stated, his tone offering no counter. "People on this ship look up to you. You're the man who brought down Saren Arterius. You're the paragon of humanity. How do you think they feel if they see that? Kelly was just doing her job damn it and you snap at her. I don't know what happened today on the Citadel but a great man once told me 'What happens off the ship, stays off the ship. You don't bring any crap into the workplace.'"

The blonde-haired mercenary's words struck a chord within Shepard and, slowly, the red mist rolled back. Finally he looked back at the young man. "You're right." He said with a sigh. "I'll go apologise to Kelly. It was a tough day today."

"What happened?" Ethan asked, leaning his shoulder against the wall that divided his office from the rest of his quarters.

"I had a meeting with the Council." He began, sitting down at the edge of his bed.

"Meeting with politicians? Always a bad idea." Ethan interrupted, a smirk on his face.

"Yeh," Shepard replied, his mood lifting slightly "Anyway, they denied everything I'd ever said about Sovereign and the Reapers, every warning I'd ever given them. They said that Sovereign was a Geth creation and Saren had been the one behind everything, but why would the Geth follow him? He was an organic. Well if you ask them they'd say it was because he was 'a very charismatic individual'." Shepard realised, with grim amusement, that he was using his fingers to create quote marks in the air, as Valern had earlier in the day. Suddenly he surged to his feet, the anger returning momentarily. "How can they be so stupid as to risk the lives of every living being out there?" At that point he turned to face Ethan and had to stop himself from laughing at the shocked expression on the young man's face. "What?"

"The Reapers are real?" Ethan asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm afraid so." Shepard answered.

And so he told Ethan everything about Sovereign, the Reapers, the Protheans and their destruction. When he was done he'd expected to be laughed at, denied or for Ethan to make a cutting joke so he was quite surprised when Ethan simply looked at the floor and chuckled slightly and whispered to himself "Xanthian you old bastard, what else did you know?"

"Ethan?" He asked, which snapped the young man's head back up.

"It's nothing." He said, before straightening up and moving towards the door. "Now come on, you've got an apology to make and I think if I stay up here any longer people will start to talk."

"Very funny." Shepard replied sarcastically, following the young man out. As the elevator travelled back towards the CIC he turned to the black-garbed man and asked him quizzically "Ethan, that 'great man' you talked about before? Who was he?"

As the elevator doors opened Ethan answered, before heading off to the tech lab for some reason. "General Caedus Hararn, Commander of the Turian 7th Legion."

Slowly, Shepard approached his Yeoman. "Kelly?" he said, clearing his throat to get her attention.

"Yes Commander?" She replied, her tone formal, uncomfortably so.

"I'd like to apologise for before. I was angry and…I wasn't thinking."

At that Kelly visibly brightened, back to her old self. "It's okay Commander. Large amounts of stress often lead to such outbursts of anger. May I suggest you find an outlet? If nothing else for your better mental health, which Doctor Chakwas did say would help heal your scars."

Not focussing on the idea Kelly knew what Chakwas had told him, Shepard continued on, trying to restore a normalcy to the CIC. "Anything I should know Kelly?"

At that she turned back to her terminal momentarily. "You have unread messages in your mail box," At that point a light started blinking on the screen "and The Illusive Man wants to talk you in the Briefing Room."

"Thank you Kelly, that'll be all."

And with that he strode from the CIC, which had gotten back its normal atmosphere, through the armory, where he nodded greetings to Jacob who was cleaning up the groundteam's weapons, and into the Briefing Room. Stepping onto the table after it had descended into the floor and opened up the communication array. Slowly a hologram of The Illusive Man appeared, the reclusive billionaire leader of Cerberus was seated and was taking a drag from his ever-present cigarette.

"Shepard," He began "I think we have them. Horizon, a colony in the Terminus Systems just went silent…"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Horizon**

Operations Chief Ashley Williams was not having a good day. It was her third day on Horizon, her third day amongst colonists who distrusted her or even downright hated her. They'd left Alliance space to settle out here in the Terminus Systems, to get away from the bureaucracy and politics of the Systems Alliance and The Council, like the pioneers of the Old West they wanted to set up their own land, answerable to none but themselves. But that 'freedom' came at a heavy price and that price was safety. So The Alliance had graciously sent them a battery of GARDIAN Defence Towers, so that they would be better protected from Terminus Slavers and Pirates.

Well that's what she told them anyway.

In truth, in the course of their investigation into the missing Human colonies in the fringes of the Terminus Systems, Alliance Intelligence, which Ash thought of as the biggest oxymoron she'd ever heard, had picked up chatter that Cerberus might be behind it and that Horizon had a high chance of being the next hit. The very thought of Cerberus made Ash shudder slightly, she'd been groundside with Shepard when they'd hit their base on Binthu and had seen the experiments they'd done there. She could still picture Rear Admiral Kohoku's body, covered in injection sites and bruises from where he'd strained against restraints. And she'd heard of the other atrocities Cerberus had committed from the other members of the ground team: the experiments on Rachni who, although they freaked her out personally, were still sentient beings, they didn't deserved to be vivisected like she'd heard about and then there was that business on Akuze, where Cerberus had deliberately led fifty Marines to their deaths by the hands of Thresher Maws. The very thought of brave men and women being sent to their deaths for no good reason made her blood boil.

But that wasn't all Alliance Intelligence had pulled up. In her briefing for this op they'd told her that there were rumours out there that Shepard, her Shepard, the man she'd loved and had seen perish above Alchera, was not only alive but was working for_ them_. If anybody but Councillor Anderson and Admiral Hackett had been the ones to tell her she'd have laughed at the idea. But the Councillor and the Admiral were not men to be swayed by hearsay, if they believed that there was nothing to the rumours they wouldn't have mentioned them. But still, why would Shepard-

Her thoughts were cut off as one of the head colonists, a woman named Lilith, fell in beside her.

"Lilith," She said, keeping her tone even. "We've got a problem."

"Still can't calibrate the targeting matrix? Lilith asked as they made their way through the daily hustle and bustle of the colony.

"Those defence towers are useless if we don't figure it out."

"Sorry Chief," Lilith replied, apologetically. "Getting our Comm Systems back online takes priority."

"Yeah, okay." Ash said, stopping and turning to face her. "Surprised people haven't tried to blame that one on me too."

"People out here don't trust the Alliance, it's nothing personal." Lilith answered, trying to sound conciliatory.

"_Like hell it isn't." _Ash thought, but before she could say so she heard the _BOOM _of a ship entering the atmosphere.

Immediately her gaze shifted to the skies above the colony, where, from behind the clouds, a cruiser that looked more like a giant termite mound than a space-going craft hove into view.

"What is that?" Lilith asked, shock evident in her voice. Around the two women a crowd of other colonists were gathering, all looking to the heavens, and upon each face was the same look of shock and awe that was plastered across Lilith's.

Whilst lightning erupted in the clouds, due to the atmospheric disturbance caused by the cruiser's entry, Ash took the M-8 Avenger from its clip on the back of her armour. Looking through the weapon's sights she confirmed what she'd suspected; it was the same ship she remembered seeing through the porthole of the escape-pod above the frozen planet, Alchera. The ship that had destroyed the Normandy, the ship that had killed Shepard.

"Get everyone to the safehouse." She told Lilith, her tone strong and commanding. As she looked back to the ship she saw a broiling, twisting, black cloud emerge from its belly and start moving towards the colony. "I'll cover you! Run!" She yelled at the colonists, depressing the trigger of the Avenger and sending a flurry of mass-accelerated rounds at the dark cloud that was encroaching ever closer towards the colony. The colonists were nearly paralyzed by fear at the black cloud rapidly descended on them and only as it reached them did they start running. Ash heard Lilith fall to the ground and so she turned from firing at the dark mass to help her to her feet. That act cost her dearly. As she turned back to resume firing Ash felt a sharp, stinging, pain erupt from her neck, just above where the armour's elasticized suit's collar ended. Her hand flying to her neck, she felt that _something _was there. Ripping it from her neck she saw that it was some kind of mechanical insect. Disdainfully she threw it away and moved to resume firing but halfway through the movement she simply stopped.

"_What the?" _She thought, willing her body to move but it still didn't respond. Behind her she heard screams and yells and the bugs fell upon the colonists, freezing them as they had her. _"Oh no."_

Operations Chief Ashley Williams was not having a good day.

* * *

><p>Shepard hit the ground not long after the initial attack, joined by his chosen groundteam of Garrus, Ethan and the new member of the squad, Kasumi. Ethan's head had shot up when she'd appeared in the shuttle bay, ready to join them.<p>

"Here I thought I had the monopoly on hood-wearing." He'd said with mock distress, throwing up his hood and enveloping most of his features in shadow.

"Sorry to disappoint." Kasumi had replied, in her ever-present cheery tone of voice.

Ethan had laughed in response "It's fine, nobody around here seemed to appreciate it anyway." That had gotten a suppressed snort of amusement from Garrus.

At that point he'd had to intervene "You do realise we have a colony to save?" he'd asked them, before they'd all had filed in and the shuttle, piloted by Crewman Goldstein, as she had been stationed on Horizon before joining Cerberus, had taken them down towards the Collector beset colony.

Over the Comm system, Shepard contacted Mordin, who had upgraded all their armor, including Ethan's vest, with a device that confused the Seeker Swarms by scrambling the wearer's biometric data.

"We're groundside. Mordin, you sure these armour upgrades will protect us from the Seeker Swarms?"

"Certainty impossible," Mordin replied, his voice made slightly tinny by the radio. "But in limited numbers should confuse detection; make us invisible to swarms...in theory."

"In theory?" Garrus asked, whilst to his left Ethan looked to the ground, trying to hide anger, irritation or fear.

"Experimental technology," Mordin explained. "Only test is contact with Seeker Swarms. Look forward to seeing if you survive."

"Mordin I want you to know," Ethan said into his radio as the squad moved forward, towards the stricken colony. "If this doesn't work, I'm coming back to haunt you." At which point he severed the Comm line.

Rounding a corner, a rustling noise filled the sky. In the air above them a dense mass of Seekers flew through the air, the mass twisting and changing like a flock of birds back on earth. Immediately thrusting a clenched fist into the sky, Shepard called his squad to a halt and they all bunkered down, Garrus turning and watching the way they had come, his eye to the Incisor's scope. Shepard's heart began to pound and silently he began praying to whoever he could think of, including Ethan's 'Cosmic Seniles', that Mordin's countermeasure would work. Thankfully, with a collective sigh of relief the swarm passed over their heads.

"Let's go." He said into the radio, which was relayed into each team member's earpiece

They hit first contact not long afterwards. Moving briskly into the outskirts of the cluster of pre-fab buildings that formed the colony, they turned a corner and found half a dozen Collectors gathered in a landing pad, upon which was a pick-up as well as several scattered boxes of cargo. Shepard was momentarily stunned at the appearance of the Collectors. He had only seen them briefly on a fuzzy, spliced together, reel of security-camera footage on Freedom's Progress and those fuzzy images compared little to the definite article. Each Collector stood at exactly 6 Feet tall, with a wide head that sported four orb-like eyes and that sloped backwards, tapering to a point. Their chitin-covered bodies sported powerful muscles and they gripped an assortment of weapons, which all looked more organic than metallic, in their three clawed hands. But that stunned feeling barely lasted a second.

"Contact!" He yelled into the squad's radio frequency and immediately a Collector was snatched backwards as Garrus put three mass-accelerated rounds into its head.

"Scoped and dropped!" Garrus exclaimed exultantly, causing a brief smile to spread across Shepard's face.

Diving into cover behind a tall stack of crates, Shepard pulled out the M-22 Eviscerator shotgun from the small of his back. The edges of the crates were quickly falling apart as the Collectors poured fire on his position, using both assault rifles and a few weapons that emitted a continual beam of destructive energy. With a lurching sensation in his stomach he realised they were simply scaled down versions of the weapons that had ripped apart the original Normandy and had led to his death. Focussing, he mentally thrust away the memories and span from cover. In one quick movement he sighted and fired at a nearby Collector. The serrated shards of metal flew through the air and plunged deep into the Collector's chitinous hide, which spurted yellow fluid and gore and caused a low, distorted, howl of pain. Pumping the shotgun, Shepard unconsciously blinked as a few rounds smacked into his shields, causing the blue field to flare briefly, but he ignored them, his shields were far away from overloading. Firing again he watched as the Collector was sent flying through the air by the force of impact, until it hit the side of the pickup and lay still.

He would have kept firing but one of the Collectors armed with a beam weapon sighted on him and fired. Immediately warnings started sounding from his armour's shield generators as the beam of energy rapidly degraded his shields' strength. Ducking back into cover, he saw Ethan notice his predicament.

"Hey Garrus!" Ethan called into the radio, grabbing the Turian sniper's attention.

"What?" Came the reply.

"Target practice!" And with that Ethan raised one arm, pointing it at the Collector who was keeping Shepard in cover with the beam weapon. Blue witchfire flowed across his arm and then a blue corona of energy surrounded the Collector, which slowly hovered into the air, causing it to look around, confused. Then, with an almost dismissive flick of his arm, Ethan sent the Collector rocketing into the sky, before severing the connection and letting gravity do its job. Garrus saw the opportunity and succeeded in drilling six rounds, in two highly disciplined bursts, into its head and torso.

Switching from his shotgun to the M-8 Avenger he had clipped to his back, Shepard sprang from cover and unleashed a burst of fire at a Collector that was huddled in the back of the pick-up. But before the rounds could hit the Collector did something and a yellow shield sprang into existence in front of it, which absorbed the volley with no discernible sign of weakening.

"I got this one Shep!" Kasumi called out as the team shifted fire to the few remaining targets they could actually hit. Then, as Shepard looked at her, she simply vanished. A few seconds later she reappeared behind the Collector that had thrown up the shield. As it turned to face her she struck it in the throat, the tips of her fingers driving into its chitinous hide like a spearhead. But that wasn't all; as she withdrew her hand she deftly deposited a small device into the wound. The device detonated in a tightly controlled explosion, which shredded the Collector's Central Nervous System. Then, as quickly as she'd appeared, she disappeared before retaking her place in her cover.

As she did so Ethan finished the last Collector, ending its life with two bursts of fire from his guns. As they moved further into the colony, he turned to Kasumi.

"A Stealth Net? Nice." He said approvingly, flashing the thief a grin.

"Thanks." Kasumi replied in between breaths. The sprinting pace Shepard was setting was hardest on her. Shepard had the advantage of N-7 Level Gene Mods, Garrus had Turian physiology to his advantage Mods and Ethan had spent his life running, be it after Varren, targets or assailants who had gone after his protectees.

"So it was you that was on the elevator."

"Guilty." Kasumi replied, grinning herself. "How do you know I was there?"

"Not often that there's a draft on a spaceship."

"Not often there's somebody who notices."

Their conversation, which had been barely tolerated by Shepard, was interrupted by Joker's voice coming over the Comms; it was badly distorted and laden with static. "Comman… tting all kinds… ference. We can't maintain…" he said before the signal faded.

"Perfect," Ethan complained "not only do they look like crap; they're blocking our communications too."

"We're on our own now." Shepard said, before turning his head to face Ethan and Kasumi "So no more talking unless it's important. All he got in reply were nods.

Turning a corner, the squad reached the residential area of the colony. The air was deathly still and even Kasumi, who revelled in the silence, taking it as a sign of a job well done, was uneasy. Suddenly the air was rent by a tortured, rasping moan and around a dozen Husks burst from hiding, charging straight down a corridor formed by two buildings, followed by a few Collectors who opened fire on the squad, forcing them into cover while all the while the Husks grew ever closer.

"What are these things?" Kasumi called out, having never seen the swarm troops of the Reapers with their synthetic flesh and artificial augmentations.

"Husks!" Garrus called back to her, forcing a Collector armed with a beam weapon back into cover with a burst of fire from his Vindicator Battle Rifle. "Don't let them get too close!"

"On the contrary Garrus!" Ethan interjected, putting his guns back into his holsters and drawing his blade from its sheath, the metal gleaming in the early afternoon sunlight. "Cover me!"

At that Ethan launched himself biotically from cover, flying high into the air, before crashing down in the middle of the group of husks, crushing one beneath his boots and sending the others tumbling to the ground. Whilst around him a fire-fight raged shots from the Collectors occasionally impacting on his shields, Ethan was calm and collected, somehow, he didn't know why, this felt _right_. Their groans echoing in the wind, the Husks scrambled ungainly to their feet and charged the lone figure in black and gold.

* * *

><p>Sidestepping, Ethan avoided a wild swipe and in turn sent his blade singing through the air. Synthetic flesh parted before it like rice-paper and the Husk's legs fell one way, its torso and arms the other. Picking up the viscera biotically he threw it into one of its brethren who was about to attack him. Ducking under another wild blow, feeling the air part above his head, Ethan span around and stabbed a Husk clean through its torso, right in the ring of metal below what would've been a ribcage. Twisting the blade he pulled it upwards, splitting the Husk's body practically in two. Then a pair of clawed hands clamped down on his shoulder, tearing the black fabric.<p>

"Hands off!" He yelled, making good on that threat by taking the Husk's hands off at the wrist. Yet still the twisted monstrosity still came on, trying to bludgeon him with now handless arms, which leaked black liquid. Adopting a two-handed grip Ethan rammed the leather-bound grip into the Husk's head, staggering it, before bringing the Kopis down in a diagonal slash that cut it virtually in half.

A Husk reared up behind him. Hearing its groan Ethan tossed the blade into the air before catching it in a reverse grip. Just as the Husk made its attack he thrust it into its abdomen, before spinning round and decapitating it with a reverse slash across the neck. The one he had knocked down grabbed his leg but he just stamped on its head and the blow, aided by his biotics, ended its half-life. Another Husk swung at him and he parried its strike blade-on, as he would another sword. In this situation however the Husk's arm was rent in two as it forced it against the keen blade. Stepping past it, he struck off its head with a backhanded cut.

All the while Ethan was involved with fighting the Husks Shepard and the rest of the squad were busy putting down the Collectors. He had been momentarily stunned by Ethan's actions, but had quickly assimilated it into his battle plan. It was actually a reasonably good strategy. Ethan, a proficient close-quarters fighter, would engage the Husks, who had no way of attacking but via melee, leaving the others to focus on the Collectors and they didn't have to worry about being forced from cover by a Husk.

A snap of fire that tore at the walls of the building he was taking cover in, forcing his mind back into focus. Breathing slowly, he leant out of cover and sighted on a Collector. First he fired a burst right above its head, drawing its attention away from Ethan, who was quickly losing his screen of Husks as he moved among them, cutting them down with ruthless efficiency. Then, as it turned, he fired a continuous stream of fire at it, aiming at the bottom of its torso and letting the assault rifle's recoil draw itself upwards, causing the stream of rounds to strike at the Collector's upper torso and head, slamming it into the ground where it lay still. As he searched for a fresh target he noticed Ethan had practically defeated the Husk's, only two of the original twelve remained.

But then, as he ran to meet the charge of one, he was struck in the back and sent tumbling forward by the other. But as he plunged through the air, he turned the fall into a roll, which landed him right in front of the Husk he'd been going for. Springing into the air, he cut the husk straight through as he ascended, gaining extra height by virtue of his biotics. Then he spun round and bisected the Husk who had struck him, his sword in a two-handed grip, roaring an explosive battle cry.

His shields flaring from Collector fire reminded him there was still a battle going on. Running as fast as he could he dove over a stack of crates, landing in cover right next to Garrus, who wasn't fazed at all by his sudden appearance.

"What d'ya think of that last move?" He asked the Turian, who was peering round the side of the crates, searching for a target. "Pretty good huh?"

"Meh," Garrus replied, glancing back at the young fighter. "I think you over-worked it, just a bit. The shout was a bit much."

As Ethan spluttered in indignation Garrus fired a Concussive round in between the remaining two Collectors. As they flew through the air he dropped them both with two, expertly aimed, bursts of fire from his Incisor.

"Oh," Ethan replied, raising an eyebrow beneath the shadow's of his hood. "And _I _overworked it?"

"Just a bit." Garrus joked, indicating a small amount with what equated to his thumb and trigger finger.

Shepard cut across their light-hearted banter. "Focus you two."

"Sorry Shepard." Ethan replied, bowing his head like a naughty schoolchild whilst all the while he was grinning under his hood.

"Well I guess this confirms The Illusive Man's intel. If the Collectors have Husks then they must be working with the Reapers."

"Those...things," Kasumi began, her tone showing she was quite disturbed by the Husks. "They used to be Human didn't they? Are they the Colonists?"

"No." Garrus replied, answering before Shepard could. "The Geth impaled their victims on giant spikes to turn them into Husks but we haven't seen any. The Collectors already had the Husks, they want the colonists alive for something else."

"The Collectors must be experimenting on the colonists." Shepard said, using the Intel Cerberus had supplied which had told him that the Collectors were suspected to use whoever they captured for genetic experiments. "What are they up to?"

"Am I the only one who really, really doesn't want to know?" Ethan asked, looking up from inspecting his blade, looking for nicks or cracks.

"Guess we'll find out when we stop them." Garrus interjected.

"These aren't the same creatures we fought before Garrus." Shepard stated, tone inquisitive. "They're more advanced, evolved."

"They still die if you shoot them." Garrus replied.

"Or stab them," Ethan said from the back, where he was furiously trying to wipe off some of the Husk gore from his blade with the hem of his tattered greatcoat. "That works just as well."

"Come on, let's move out." Shepard said and the team fell in behind him, Garrus taking the rear-guard. Ethan gave up trying to clean his blade, which was practically caked in gore. And so, not wanting to put it back in its scabbard where the gore could make it stick when he needed it, he drew one of his guns, leaving the other in its holster.

* * *

><p>Everyone moved slowly between the pre-fab walls and warehouses as they made their way to the main control building of the colony, the colonial equivalent of a town hall. As they moved, the growing silence began to feel unnatural. Even their breathing felt cacophonous in that silence. Moving through the colony they came to a square, formed by four pre-fabs with the only exit being the way they'd come or a narrow alleyway that led towards the main building.<p>

"If someone wants to say _'It's quiet...too quiet.'_ "Ethan whispered to the others, trying to lighten the mood. "Now would be the time." This got a grin and a mandible twitch from Kasumi and Garrus but any reply was cut short when Shepard's closed fist shot into the air, bringing them all to a halt.

"Kasumi," He said quietly, pointing back at her without even looking. "Use that Stealth Net and recon the square. I don't like this it's..." with that he turned back to Ethan with a sardonic stare "too quiet."

"You got it Shep." And with that Kasumi vanished from view. The minutes they spent crouched around the corner from the square were nerve-wracking. Every second they were just waiting for there to be the sound of gunfire or even just a scream as Kasumi was discovered. But they all gravely underestimated her. Five minutes after vanishing she reappeared in their midst. "Five Collectors around the corner in the alleyway, another with a beam weapon on the upper-floor of a two story pre-fab. Colonists as well but they seem to be paralyzed, probably due to the Seekers."

"Alright, here's the plan." Shepard explained, keeping his voice low. "Garrus, you get into the pre-fab directly opposite the two-story one and take out the Collector with the beam weapon. After that give me, Ethan and Kasumi cover while we take out the other Collectors that will come running. And everyone? Pick your targets, there's civilians around, no wild suppressing fire. "

"Got it." Came the unusually simple reply from Ethan, who set his pistol to single-shot fire.

"On three." Shepard instructed his squad. "One...two...THREE!"

The Collectors didn't stand a chance. Garrus took out the Collector with the beam weapon within seconds, taking out the most dangerous opponent before the fight even began. Responding to the shot, the other Collectors poured round the corner and ran straight into disciplined volleys of fire from Kasumi, Ethan and Shepard. They didn't stand a chance and the last one fell just as the death rattle of the first faded away.

As they made their way towards the alleyway at the far end of the square Ethan turned to Kasumi. "Kasumi, you said there were civilians but I don't see any-"His voice cut off in shock as they turned the corner into the alley. "What the?"

A colonist in his late forties stood frozen as he was leaning over to help another, younger, woman, possibly his daughter, who was similarly immobile, to her feet. Around them a black cloud swirled and as Garrus took a step closer to them the man's eyes, fixed in an expression of alarm and panic, shot up to meet his.

"Looks like some kind of stasis field. Leaves victims helpless but fully aware." Garrus said while privately wondering how much those slaving bastards on Omega would pay for tech like this.

"They've been like this a long time." Shepard said, moving up the stairs of the two-story pre-fab. If he wanted he could take whatever he wanted from the buildings surrounding him but he wasn't that kind of man, men like that sickened him. A further sweep of the area revealed three other frozen colonists, all sharing the same wide-eyed look of panic that they'd adopted hours earlier as the Collectors descended on them. The sweep also turned up strange pods, which Ethan hypothesised were probably for the purpose of transporting the colonists to the ship.

Finally, unable to do anything for the colonists at that point, the team headed out again. They hadn't gotten far before the air was filled with a rustling sound. Suddenly, Collectors, borne aloft by rapidly moving wings landed directly in front of the squad, to the left of one of the GARDIAN turrets and beside an entrance to the central building. Immediately each member of Shepard's team dived into cover, Garrus and Kasumi on the flanks and Shepard and Ethan holding the center.

Then, as the Collectors advanced on them one of their number, who carried a beam weapon, doubled up, letting out a twisted growl of pain. Then, unaided by its wings, it floated into the air. Orange light danced across its carapace as it screamed in pain and a deep, threatening voice echoed across the battlefield.

"_**I AM ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL" **_

Upon hearing it Garrus and Shepard's blood ran cold as they remembered the echoing, monotone voice of Sovereign two years ago, who had professed the destruction of all sentient life. Finally, with a burst of energy, the Collector sank back down to the ground, fiery lines running across its cracked and broken hide.

"Well that's interesting." Ethan said to Shepard, as they were knelt behind a stack of crates.

"I know." Came the reply, Shepard not really paying attention.

"Who would've figured they could fly?" That got him a look of complete incomprehension.

"That's what you find interesting, not the whole 'Reaper Possession' thing?" He asked the young fighter. But before Ethan could reply the thunderous voice sounded again.

"_**WE ARE HARBINGER. FLEE WHILE YOU CAN SHEPARD."**_

That got Shepard's attention. "Light it up!" He roared to his squad, who, as one, began to pour fire onto the altered Collector. But something was different; it just seemed to shrug off their attacks. Stepping forward, it raised its arm and a bolt of golden energy shot forward, striking Shepard full on as he stood to let off another burst another burst of fire. The pain was unlike anything he'd ever felt before, that one attack had felt like he'd just been targeted by an entire squad of Asari Commandos simultaneously. His armor twisted and threatened to buckle as the biotic energy tore at it.

"_**THE FORCES OF THE UNIVERSE BOW TO ME." **_Echoed the voice once more.

"You're not the only one they bow to!" Ethan yelled back, standing up, ignoring the fire of the Collectors. Biotic energy swirling across his body, he launched an attack of his own. A bolt of blue energy leapt from his finger, sundering the biotic barrier the Collector had sheathed itself in. A second bolt soon followed the first and it rent and tore at the Collector, ripping at its hide. His attacks were joined by the other team members, who were determined to aid their Commander, who was breathing heavily, slumped against the crate he'd been taking cover behind. Seconds passed as they poured fire on it until, finally, the body of 'Harbinger 'went lax, before the energy that had coursed across it turned it to ash.

"_**THIS CHANGES NOTHING, SHEPARD."**_ The voice echoed as its corporeal form failed.

"Sore loser." Ethan said to himself, ducking back into cover as Collector fire once again zeroed in on him. "You alright Shepard?" he asked, clasping the Commander's shoulder.

"I'm fine." Shepard replied, composing himself both physically and mentally. "Come on. Let' get it done."

Firing a burst of fire, Shepard took out another Collector and then rushed forward and moving to the next bit of cover, followed by Ethan and Kasumi whilst Garrus stayed behind to provide covering fire. As they ran by near to where 'Harbinger' has been struck down, Ethan bent, holstering his gun, and swept up the fallen beam weapon.

"Hey, Shepard!" He called to the Commander, who slid into cover behind an auxiliary generator for the nearby GARDIAN turret. "Souvenir!" and with that he threw the weapon to the Commander, before drawing his gun again and ducking behind a low wall. Shepard caught the weapon and, putting away his Assault Rifle, aimed it at a Collector who had emerged from a maintenance shack next to the turret. Depressing what counted as the trigger he let loose a continuous stream of directed radiation which cut through the Collectors defences like a hot knife through butter.

Grinning at the new weapon's performance he motioned for the rest of his squad to move up and engage the fresh wave of enemies who were abandoning their attempts at hacking their way into the central building in order to engage the enemies that threatened their rear. They put up a strong resistance but 'Harbinger' luckily did not appear again and so Shepard and his squad crushed them without mishap. As they walked up towards the door into the central building, Shepard unclipped the grenade launcher from his back and passed it to Garrus, who secured it on his own armour, before putting the Collector Beam Weapon in its place

"Kasumi, get that door open." Shepard ordered, signalling to the others to form a perimeter around the thief as she worked.

Showcasing her skills, Kasumi had the paltry security measures undone in just over a second and it slid open. Stepping inside, the squad found themselves in what seemed to be a generator bay. They moved through the room, which was only lit by the glow of the generators' status lights, at a cautious pace, anything could be waiting in the shadows.

Suddenly something metal struck the floor. Immediately Shepard's pistol was out and pointed at the place of the noise's origin. "Company." He said to his squad, who made ready to engage, before addressing the darkness between the generators. "Get out here, now!"

A tentative glace preceded the appearance of a human male as he stepped out from behind one of the generators. He was in the later stages of middle-age, with a thin moustache above his top lip, and he was dressed in the typical, utility-focused, garb of a colonist.

"You're… you're human! What are you doing here? You'll lead them right here!" the colonist nearly yelled, his tone panicked.

"Relax. We took care of the Collector's so far. You're safe now," Shepard assured.

The man's eyes widened in shock before he turned away, face the wall. "Those things are Collectors? They're real?" he mumbled to himself. "I thought they were just made up. You know – propaganda. To keep us in Alliance Space," then his head snapped up and he span round. "No! They got Lilith! I saw her go down! Sten, too! They got damn near everybody!"

"We need to know what we're up against here. Tell me everything you remember," Shepard demanded.

The man took a breath, trying to calm himself. "We lost our comm. signals a few hours ago. I came down to check on the main grid. Then I heard screaming," he started with a shudder. "I looked outside and there was… swarms of bugs. Everyone they touched just froze. I… I sealed the doors." He started to pace agitatedly. "Damn it – it's the Alliance's fault! They stationed that Chief Williams here and built those defense towers. It made us a target!" he declared angrily.

Shepard's heart nearly skipped a beat. It was the first mention of Ashley he'd heard since landing. "Tell me about this Alliance Rep." he asked.

"Chief Williams? Heard she was some kind of hero or something," he shrugged. "Didn't mean nothing to me though. Would've rather she just stayed back in Council Space."

"What is she doing here?" Shepard asked, trying to keep his voice even, despite the fact that the man before him was continuously insulting the government he'd fought-and died-for.

"Supposed to be helping us get the defense towers up and running," he answered before scowling. "I got the feeling she was here for something else. Spying on us, maybe."

"_Ash a spy?"_ Shepard thought to himself _"That'd never happen in a million years; she'd blow her cover in five seconds flat."_

"If you have defense towers, we could use them against the Collector Ship." Garrus interjected.

"You'll need to calibrate the targeting system first." The colonist replied, " It's never worked right."

"Don't worry about that." Ethan told the man, clapping Garrus on the shoulder. "We've got the best calibrator in the known Galaxy here."

"Head for the main transmitter on the other side of the colony." The man instructed, "The targeting controls are at the base."

"Thank you, I think it's best if you stay here." Shepard replied, not mentioning the real reason was that he really didn't like this guy.

"Yeah," The colonist agreed relief plain on his face. "That's what I was thinking too." He then brought up the holographic interface of his omni-tool. "I'll let you out but I'm locking the door behind you. I'm not taking any chances." He finished keying the commands needed and the orange hologram dissipated. "Good luck. I think you're gonna need it."

* * *

><p>Just under half an hour later, Shepard stood in front of the main transmitter. It had been a tough fight getting there, the Collectors knew they were coming and had dug in, using everything they had on hand to stop he and his team's approach, including strange, horrific creatures that looked like a bunch of Husks thrown together. They possessed a large Element Zero cannon which was, as best he could tell, fed by the immense throbbing sack on its back. However tough they were though, they hadn't been able to hold against Ethan's biotics, his and Garrus' gunfire and Kasumi's trickery. Behind him Ethan was putting the last of the husks to the sword while he used the transmitter to contact the Normandy, which was lying in wait, stealth systems engaged, behind the next planet in the system.<p>

"Normandy? Joker, do you copy?" He asked the ether.

_"Joker here. Signal's weak, Commander, but we got you."_ Came the slightly tinny and distorted response.

"Let's show these things we give as good as we get." He said with an almost savage delight at finally being able to strike back in a meaningful way. " EDI, bring the defense towers online."

_"Errors in the calibration are easily rectified, but it will take time to bring the towers to full power. I recommend a defensive posture; I will not be able to mask increased generator output."_

"_Great," _Shepard complained inwardly _"Why can't things ever be simple?" _"Anything else I should know?" Shepard asked quickly.

_"Just one. Enemy reinforcements are closing in. I suggest you ready weapons," _EDI replied.

Immediately Shepard started running for a spot he'd found earlier. It was a walkway that ran between two pre-fabs, accessible only by two stairwells. The squad saw him running and joined him, hunkering down beside him. From their position they had good line of sight to practically the entire compound that surrounded the transmitter, including the transmitter itself. It wasn't long before their enemies made themselves known; the groaning of Husks was accompanied by the thrumming of Collector wings as a wave of opponents threw themselves into the fight. In response Shepard adopted the strategy that had served the squad well so far. Ethan flipped over the walkway railing and into the open where he could better engage the Husks whilst the rest of the squad started picking off Collectors.

It was a tough fight, for every Husk Ethan struck down or every Collector that was brought down by the rest of the squad, another seemed ready to take its place whilst Shepard's squad didn't have that luxury. Ethan's greatcoat was slashed and torn so much that he simply abandoned it, whipping it into a Collector's face with a biotically reinforced throw, which provided Kasumi with the perfect distraction that she used to deadly effect, putting two pistol rounds in between its four eyes. Garrus took a round to the shoulder, making it practically impossible for him to take the recoil of his rifles without growling in pain, so instead he propped the barrel of whatever rifle he was using on the top of the railing and thus kept firing. And Shepard, for all his accuracy, was running out of heat sinks, without which his weapons would cease to fire.

And added to that was the return of Harbinger. Every so often that ominous would ring out across the compound. It would've been more intimidating if the squad didn't have a sure-fire strategy for putting down whatever Collector found itself possessed. Either Ethan would pause in his husk slaying and biotically rip away its defences or whoever had a free moment would fire the beam weapon they'd acquired, which seemed to be very good at taking down the Harbinger's defences, at it, at which point the rest of the squad would all pour fire on it till it was defeated. And so, the repeated booming threats began to become less scary and awe-inspiring and more annoying.

""_**I AM HARBINGER." **_The voice sounded again. _**"YOU CANNOT STAND AGAINST ME."**_

"Oh will you shut up!" Ethan yelled, his patience worn thin. Spinning on his heel, he threw his sword, the blade of which was practically black now due to all the gore that lay upon it, with all the strength he possessed. The blade span end over end before striking the most recently converted Collector right in the face, where it sank deep, ending its life even before Harbinger's boast had finished echoing off the plasteel walls. Then, stretching out a glowing arm, he returned it to his hand just in time to cleave a Husk's head in two.

Then, all was quiet, save for the sound of the now-active GARDIAN turrets pounding the Collector Ship. No more Husks charged forward heedlessly, no more Collectors opened fire upon them. And yet something wasn't quite right.

"Keep an eye out, there's bound to be more of them." Garrus said, wincing slightly as he pulled his Vindicator Battle Rifle, the action stressing the injury to his shoulder.

Suddenly a screeching filled the air and a strange construct, something that seemed to be a metallic cross between a crab and a scarab beetle came streaking out of the sky.

"You just had to be right." Kasumi said wearily.

"Scatter!" Shepard yelled to his teammates, who promptly did so. Just as they got into cover the thing touched down. Its armour was more uniform than anything they'd seen before, sleek and smooth. But that exterior belied a hidden horror. As it moved the forward two of its four claw like extremities it displayed the true method of how it was powered. Within its carapace lay the remains of over thirty ordinary husks, fused together in an abominable creation. Slowly, this new horror slowly turned to look at Shepard, who raised his assault rifle to his shoulder and started firing. Having sighted him attacked.

Hovering above the ground, it let loose a beam of blue energy from its eyes which toe through Shepard's shields as they hadn't even been there, which forced him to duck back into cover. Though Garrus and the others were firing at it, the construct's sole focus was on Shepard. It floated to the pillar Shepard was huddled behind, waiting for shields to come back online. Just as they did so, the construct punched one of its claws straight through the pillar. Responding on pure, animal, instinct, he ran for it, adrenaline coursing through his veins that, aided by synaptic upgrades Cerberus had implanted, seemed to slow down things around him. Spinning around, he fired his assault rifle whilst all the while moved backwards, heading for a new piece of cover. The rounds tore into the thing's armor plating which only seemed to anger it. Ripping half the pillar off, it freed its claw and made for Shepard.

However, before it could do so, the back of its armor crumpled as Ethan, sheathed in blue biotic energy, slammed into it with all the force of a battering-ram. Turning around, the construct launched an attack on its assailant, sending its forward two claws screaming towards the lone figure before it, ignoring the bug-bites of fire that it felt in response to the rest of the squad's gunfire. However its attack did not go as planned. As its claws swung in, Ethan sidestepped, letting them whip past him and then, biotic fire burning across his arms; he brought the gore-coated blade down on them. The black-coated metal bit deep and, aided by its master's own biotic power, severed the first foot of both of them.

In response to this, the construct let out an almighty screech that echoed through the air. Then energy began to pulse all along its armor, crackling and humming in intensity. It slammed itself into the ground, the force of which caused Ethan to stagger back and the energy only built in intensity. As it did so, Ethan noticed that the Husk skulls within its carapace where glowing and pulsing in response to the growing energy output.

"Get out of there!" Shepard roared at him, to which Ethan obeyed, shooting away in a blur of biotic energy. It had been the right thing to do because, just as he darted away, the air around the construct, which was screeching like a choir of damned souls, exploded in a burst of energy. And as it raised itself from the ground once more, the air before it shimmered as biotic energy swirled around it.

"Damn it." Shepard cursed under his breath, slamming a fist into the plasteel wall he was crouched behind.

_"Shepard, it's Garrus."_ The Turian said over their private Comm link. _"I've got an idea."_ He'd seen what Ethan had seen, thanks to the magnification capability of his visor.

"What is it?" Shepard practically demanded.

_"What's the first rule of military demolition work?"_

Immediately Shepard's thought process snapped back to his days in N-7 Boot Camp. "If the exterior's solid-"

_"You've got to take it out from the inside. We've got an exposed power source. We take that out then this _thing_ is going down."_

"Good idea." Shepard agreed and then he switched the Comms onto the group-wide frequency. "Ethan, Kasumi, get that thing to follow you, give Garrus a direct shot at the opening in its armor. Garrus, you use the grenade launcher to take it out once they've taken out its barrier. If any of you get into trouble I'll draw its attention." Affirmative replies came from all of them.

And so, once again, Ethan charged into the construct's midst with Kasumi sprinting after him. Kasumi poured fire on the construct with her sub-machine gun whilst Ethan launched a warping blast of biotic energy at it. Eventually the construct turned its focus to the two of them and pursued them, firing its energy weapon, the beam of which Kasumi avoided by an impressive display of acrobatic and Ethan either avoided or shielded himself via use of his biotics. All the while Garrus, unused to using the M-100 Launcher, was letting his visor do the lion's share of figuring out a firing solution, compensating for wind and, in this case, projectile drop ratio. Finally the solution came up.

"Get down!" He yelled to Ethan and Kasumi, who did so, bringing down the construct's biotic barriers with one last burst of fire and biotic energy. As soon as they hit the ground Garrus fired the Grenade Launcher. The High-Explosive flew through the air, landing straight in the center of the hole in the construct's armor and detonating inside it. The explosion rent open parts of the construct's armor and within it had blown of the Husk skulls to pieces. But, even as gravely damaged as it was, the construct still came on. That was until Garrus fired another grenade into the gaping chasm in its armor. The second explosion obliterated its insides and, screeching like nothing any of the squad ever heard in their lives, the construct rose into the sky, blue energy coursing across its devastated carapace until, in an action that momentarily stunned all present, it simply disintegrated.

"All right. Fall in." Shepard said across the Comm system, whilst around them the GARDIAN turrets continued their bombardment of the Collector cruiser. Eventually they were all gathered before the main transmitter. Garrus was breathing hard, Ethan was looking around, almost forlornly, for the remains of his coat and Kasumi was pretty much making sure she was still intact. But just as Shepard was about to outline the next stage of the plan, there was a massive explosion and a surge of heat and pressure, which forced the squad to plant their feet more firmly on the ground and shield their eyes.

The Collector cruiser, not seeming to even register the attacks of the GARDIAN turrets, was leaving.

"They're pulling out!" Garrus exclaimed. "They've got no reason to stay, most of the colonists are onboard. They've got what they came for." He continued, his tone icier than usual.

"_Damn it!" _Shepard mentally yelled. At least half the colony had to be in the hold of that ship, terrified people who he'd _failed._

"No! Don't let them get away!" Came a plaintive voice. It was the colonist they'd met in the main building, he came running past the assembled squad, as if he somehow intended sprint on to the ship. Eventually he slowed, staring upwards towards where the ship was hastily achieving escape velocity.

"What do you want us to do?" Ethan replied before Shepard could, his tone a mixture of angry and derisive. Shepard would've talked to him about that but at this point he was actually feeling the same way. "Get on our invisible hover-bikes and chase after them?"

"Half the colony's in there!" The man continued, either not hearing Ethan's words or just not choosing to respond. "They took Egan and Sam…and Lilith! Do something!"

Shepard forced himself to be diplomatic. "I didn't want it to end this way. I did what I could." He said, his tone neutral.

"More than most Shepard." Garrus interjected, clapping a hand to Shepard's shoulder.

"Shepard?" the colonist said, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Wait. I know that name…" He said, turning round, his eyes afire with suspicion. "Sure, I remember you. You're some type of big Alliance hero."

"Commander Shepard." Said a voice seemingly from nowhere, but it was a voice three of the people knew and two of them knew very well. From out behind a stack of shipping crates, none other than Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams, walked into their midst. She'd narrowly escaped being loaded aboard herself. Just as she was about to be put into one of the pods she'd been forced to watch others be loaded into, all the Collectors around her had started chattering wildly in their deep, guttural, voices. One had pointed to the east where, unbeknownst to her, Shepard and his squad had just defeated Harbinger's first appearance. "Captain of the Normandy, the first Human Spectre" She continued to list Shepard's achievements before finally stopping just a few steps in front of him. Then she turned to the colonist who was just as shocked as Shepard and Garrus and, to a lesser extent, Ethan whose surprise was tempered by a faint glimmer of morbid amusement, _"This should be interesting." _he thought to himself. "You're in the presence of a god Delan, back from the dead."

"All the good people we lost and you get left behind. Figures." Delan replied, his contempt open. "Screw this, I'm done with you Alliance types." With which he waved his hand dismissively and walked off, going to salvage what was left of his life.

Delan dealt with, Ashley walked up and embraced Shepard, emotion plain in her eyes. "I thought you were dead Shepard. We all did." It was obvious she was happy to see him, but there was something else in her tone, something harder.

"You sound angry Ash." Shepard replied, picking up on it. "What's wrong?"

"I'll tell you what's wrong." Ash said, breaking the embrace. "I thought you were dead! Why didn't you try to contact me? Why didn't you tell me you were alive? " Her voice began to crack slightly from emotion. "We...had something Shepard. Something real…How could you put me through that?"

"Ash," Shepard said, his tone apologetic. "I was clinically dead. It took two years for Cerberus to rebuild me."

At that revelation Ash began to take steps backward. "You're with Cerberus now?" She asked, her tone suspicious, her eyes accusatory. Her gaze then flicked over Shepard's shoulder where her old comrade, Garrus, was standing. "Garrus too?" She shook her head. "I can't believe the report were right."

"Reports?" Garrus asked, inquisitive. "You mean you already knew?"

"Alliance intel said Cerberus could be behind our missing colonies. We got a tip that this one could be the next to get hit," she explained. "I went to Anderson, but he wouldn't talk. But there were rumours that you weren't dead. Worse: you were working for the enemy." Her eyes then flicked over Shepard's shoulder to Ethan. It would take him a while to figure why she'd looked at him when she'd said that but when he did he'd laughed, realising that his outfit shared the same colours as Cerberus: Black, White and Gold.

"Cerberus and I want the same thing, to save our colonies." Shepard said, trying to explain to Ash why he was now working alongside a group they'd hunted across the galaxy. "That doesn't mean I answer to them."

"Do you really believe that?" Ash demanded, she was angry now and it showed. "Or is that what Cerberus wants you to think? I wanted to believe you were alive, but I never expected anything like this." Her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed in anger and the next words she spoke were like a hammer-blow to Shepard. "How could you just turn your back on all of us? You betrayed the Alliance…Anderson. You betrayed ME."

"Ash, you know me." Shepard replied, almost pleading with Ash to see things his way. "You know I'd only do this for the right reason. You've seen it yourself, the Collectors are targeting Human colonies and they're working with the Reapers!"

"I want to believe you Shepard, but I don't trust Cerberus. And it worries me that you do. What did they do to you? What if they're behind it? What if they're the ones working with the Collectors?"

"Damnit Williams!" Garrus practically yelled, abandoning Turian stoicism. "You're so focussed on Cerberus that you're ignoring the real threat!"

"You're letting your history get in the way of the facts." It was only until Shepard uttered the words that he realised how condescending they sounded, regardless of intention.

"Or maybe you feel like you owe Cerberus because they saved you. Maybe it's you." She waved a hand to cut across any denial. "Doesn't matter. I still know where my loyalties lie. I am Alliance soldier. It's in my blood."

"_Melodramatic much?" _Ethan thought to himself, but had the good sense to stay quiet.

"I'm reporting back to the Citadel." Ash continued, her tone still hostile. "I'll let them decide whether to believe your story or not."

"_My guess? Not."_

"So long Ash." Shepard said, resigned to the fact things would never be the same.

"Goodbye Commander." Shepard noticed the change from 'Shepard' to 'Commander' and the good luck she wished him seemed like little more than a formality.

Sighing inwardly, Shepard opened up the Comm link to the Normandy. "Joker, send the shuttle to pick us up. I've had enough of this colony."

**Author's Note: Well here's a big one done. Any changes to the Ash/Shep dialogue were done deliberately. Hope you leave a review and I hope I can get a new chapter out quicker than this one. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Aftermath**

The shuttle ride back to the Normandy was a sombre affair. All knew the change that had rocked the Commander's life and nobody wanted to antagonise him, each remembering the anger that be had displayed not so long ago. Whilst Shepard sat with folded arms, looking inward, Garrus simply tipped his head back and stared at the roof of the Kodiak, trying to relax his battle weary body. Kasumi was looking out of the portside viewing window; gazing out at the uncountable pinpricks of light and trying to remember which ones she had visited. Ethan was spinning his still unsheathed blade, which was still covered in black gore, on its tip but stopped when Shepard fixed him with a glare.

The uncomfortable silence persisted as the Kodiak docked inside the Normandy hangar, but was thankfully broken by Garrus as they strode across the hangar floor when he noticed Ethan was not heading towards the Storage Room that served as his quarters.

"Where you heading Farrows?" He asked genially.

"The Armoury," Ethan replied, stepping into the elevator with the rest of the squad and Goldstein. "This stuff," he explained, lifting up the still bare blade, "is proving hard to shift so I'm gonna go get some cleaning agent to help get rid of it."

"Hey Garrus," Kasumi piped up, turning towards the Turian "Could you take my stuff up to the armoury? I need to lie down."

"Sure Kasumi, you alright?"

"Yeah," The female thief replied, sighing. "Just need to unwind, I'm not really used to frontline strike ops. If I'm fighting, it usually means I've done something wrong."

"Fair enough." Garrus replied, taking the proffered weapons from Kasumi, who got off on the crew deck.

All the while Shepard had remained silent, staring intently at the elevator doors, boring a hole in them with his gaze. Finally they opened onto the CIC, which was buzzing with activity as usual. Crew sat at their workstations, hands flying over the holographic interfaces before them or else walked around, coming off shift or running non-critical messages to different departments whilst in the cockpit, Joker was getting them as far away as possible from Horizon.

As he headed towards the Armoury Kelly called out to him from her workstation, having heard the elevator door open behind her and the heavy noise of hardsuit boots on the floor.

"The Illusive Man wants to see you in the Briefing Room, Commander."

"_Perfect." _Shepard thought to himself, annoyed.

Heading into the Armoury he nodded perfunctorily at Jacob before dumping his weapons in his personal locker, where they would be looked over, cleaned and repaired by Jacob, ready for their next outing. The only weapon he kept out of the locker was the new Collector Beam Weapon, which he practically threw onto the central table, where it skidded to right in front of Jacob.

"Analyze it, take it apart, do whatever the hell it is you do with it but do it fast." He said brusquely, before moving quickly through into the Briefing Room.

"What's up with him?" Jacob asked, now intently studying the Collector weapon, pulling a tray full of diagnostic equipment closer to him without even looking at it. The Commander's mood wasn't _as _interesting as the new weapon was but it was still interesting.

"Old ghost turned up." Garrus supplied, whist neatly packing his weapons into his locker, in the exact same way he had since boot camp.

"Williams?" Jacob asked, probing the weapon with a small, thin utensil. The stunned silence didn't surprise him. "What, I see Cerberus briefing reports too."

"Yeh." Garrus replied, standing up and heading back through the door to the CIC. He didn't have any grievances with Jacob but it wasn't his place to discuss Shepard's personal business.

"Hey Jacob." Ethan's voice did manage to snap the Cerberus operative's gaze away from the Collector Beam Weapon.

"Farrows." Jacob said, keeping his face and tone professional. "Do you need something?"

"I do," Ethan replied, keeping his voice in the same professional tone. "You got any Cleaning Solvent around? This Husk crap is proving a challenge to shift."

"Uh yeah, sure." He replied, surprised that the merc hadn't made a joke or wisecrack. Turning he quickly rooted around in one of the storage crates, before finding a canister of cleaning agent. Turning to face the young fighter, he threw the canister to him.

He had barely caught it when Professor Solus burst into the room from the door that led from the Tech Lab.

"Farrows." He started off, his speech pattern even more rapid than usual. "Glad you're back. Don't use the cleanser. Would like to analyse Husk viscera. Should prove useful Intel. Only need weapon for a few hours. Will return, cleaned, afterwards."

"Umm…" Ethan considered, assimilating the idea. He had never been without his sword, not even in the Hegemony. But he knew enough of the doc to trust him. "Sure." At that he passed the sword, hilt first, to the Salarian, who accepted it with both hands, before going back into his lab. Then he turned back to Jacob. "Sorry, all for nothing."

"It's fine." And with that he turned back to the Collector Rifle.

Walking back into the CIC, Ethan walked up to Kelly's workstation. Leaning against it he flashed a smile, one that was returned.

"Hey Ethan." Kelly greeted him, her happiness to see him plain.

"Hey Kelly." He replied, his tone similarly genial. "Could you do me a favor?"

"Sure Ethan, what do you need?"

"When Shepard finishes up with Mr Illusive back there, could you tell him I'd like a word?"

"Sure." She said, before quickly turning back to her console as a new message popped up and then turning back again. "Anything else?"

Ethan leant in then, speaking in a hushed tone that only she would be able to hear amongst the hustle and bustle of the CIC. _"Join me for a coffee later on in the mess? My treat."_

The look in Kelly's eyes was the usual combination of shock, at being asked, which then sidled into intrigue. This time it was her turn to whisper in his ear, though it took slightly more effort, seeing as he had a two or three inch height advantage.

"_I guess. Shall we say 19:00?" _The SR-2 ran on Zulu Time so that was two hours away.

"_19:00 it is then." _And with that he disengaged from the interaction, moving backwards a few steps, before spinning on his heel and walking into the elevator.

* * *

><p>Half an hour later Shepard stepped out into the Hangar deck, having finished his meeting with The Illusive Man, changed into his ship-wear and grabbed a quick bite to eat from the mess hall. Despite the fact that Horizon was now numerous light-years away now his mood had not improved much. He still bore a grim countenance and any dialogue he had engaged in had been curt and to the point. Hitting the green hologram on the door, Shepard stepped into the storage room.<p>

The first thing that hit him was sound. A wall of noise smacked into him as he stepped inside, emanating from a music player somewhere within.

"_**DON'T JUDGE A THING TILL YOU KNOW WHAT'S INSIDE IT! DON'T PUSH ME, I'LL FIGHT IT!" **_a singer blasted out, accompanied by the sound of drums and electric guitars. Upon seeing him enter, Ethan cut the music.

"Shepard!" He greeted the Commander, his tone jovial. "Thought Kelly had forgotten to ask you to come down here. Come in, come in."

The second thing that surprised him was how the storage room had changed. Ethan had near-totally redecorated. In the dead center of the room there was a desk, all shining metal and plasteel upon which lay a console, a few scraps of paper and, until he'd walked in, Ethan's feet. A few storage trunks lay along the back wall, pressed against it and bolted down. In the far left corner a bed was made in such a pristine fashion that it would've made the most hardened Drill Sergeant weep with joy. In the opposite far corner there was a sofa, metal base with black leather furnishings, which was joined by a low coffee table of metal and plexiglass. And closer to him was a small version of the mess hall tables, surrounded by four chairs.

"Like what've I done with the place?" Ethan asked, clapping him on the shoulder and motioning for him to take a seat at the larger table, before kneeling down next to his desk and rooting through one of the side drawers.

"Yeah," Shepard replied, sitting down and gazing around the room. "I'm just wondering where you got it all."

"Storage." Came the reply from behind the desk. "All this stuff is replacement kit. The desk is a carbon copy of Operative Lawson's, the coffee table and sofa" A hand shot up from behind the desk and pointed over towards the furniture "are replacements for your cabin and I swear we have a table like that one in the Crew Quarters somewhere, or so EDI tells me- AHA!" From behind the table came a distinctive _clink_ and Ethan stood up, two tumblers clenched between his fingers in one hand, a bottle in another.

Setting himself down in the chair opposite Shepard, Ethan slid one tumbler over to Shepard and opened the bottle. Slowly, he filled the tumbler before him with a deep amber colored liquid. Once it reached a comfortable amount he tilted the bottle towards Shepard.

"Drink?" He asked, playing the host. "It's been a long day."

"Yeah, thanks." Shepard replied, his dark mood lifting slightly.

Lifting the amber liquid to his nose, Ethan inhaled deeply, picking up the heady aromas of the beverage, before taking a small sip and setting the glass back down. Shepard, however, was coarser in his approach, taking a large gulp of the drink. What he got in return was a dry burning sensation in his nostrils and throat and a hoot of laughter from Ethan as he spluttered.

"Sorry Shepard," The blonde mercenary said, wiping tears from his eyes. "Should've warned you. This stuff's got a bit of a kick to it. It's called Khrazian Fire, brewed on only one planet in the Hegemony. I have a friend on Illium who smuggles the stuff out. The key is to sip it, not to chug it down like some cheap scotch."

"Thanks," Shepard replied, trying to get his breath back. Saying this stuff 'had a kick' was the biggest understatement of the century. His breath returned, he posed a question to his drinking companion. "What were you listening to when I came in, by the way?"

"Oh that? Scanners picked up some radio signals from one of those old pre-drive core space probes. It was carrying 'A Greeting from Humanity' in case it was ever found, greetings in various languages, music and so on and so on."

Shepard scoffed slightly at that, he'd never seen the point of those things really. They seemed a waste of resources humanity could've put to use in other areas of their space programs. All of them were pointless now, after the discovery of FTL travel, the Relays and the rest of the Galaxy in general.

"You disapprove?" Ethan asked, an eyebrow raised as he took a sip of Khrazian Fire.

"Just don't see much point to them." Shepard shrugged "Don't seem to have anything going for them." He looked then at the young man, remembering how he'd fought back down on Horizon, the way he'd moved, the way he'd cut down husks by the score, his blade shimmering in the sunlight. "You fought well down there." He said approvingly.

"Why thank you Shepard." Ethan replied, inclining his head slightly. "You weren't too bad yourself. I'm starting to see why everybody makes such a big fuss about you."

Shepard's lips twitched slightly in amusement. "Your sword does well against husks and other such things, Ethan, but I'm still struggling to see how you still use it effectively against soldiers, mercs and other people who are wearing hardsuits. Those things are designed to stop slugs travelling at fractions of light speed and come on knives haven't been used as anything more than a utility item in most militaries."

"Well first off I'd like to say that I do more than _'well'_, thank you very much." Ethan began, sounding a tad hurt. "Secondly, the way it works is really quite simple. First thing is that the metal it's made of is very strong and has no imperfections that weaken it. Next is the fact that most hardsuits are designed with bullets, shrapnel and possibly hostile table legs in mind." Shepard was about to ask the obvious question but Ethan cut him off. "Don't ask. Suffice to say that most baseball teams should sign Krogans. Anyway, the point is that they are best at stopping small, pinpoints of kinetic energy. Now if you slice with a very sharp blade you are usually hitting the hardsuit with around a foot of kinetic energy and therefore pressure. Now add into the equation my biotics and you've got a pretty hefty amount of force being directed into a large portion of the hardsuit through a very narrow edge. Most buckle and if they don't I just go for the throat or joints, where there's only that elasticized suit. That opens up like a Volus if you give him a credit chit."

"Fair enough," Shepard replied, mentally smiling at the image.

Ethan was silent for a moment, looking at his glass. He gazed into the amber liquid, mentally preparing himself for his next question. "So…." He looked up then, looking straight into Shepard's eyes with those startling blue eyes of his. "Are you okay? With everything that happened down there on Horizon?"

Shepard's good mood, which had been steadily reappearing as he'd sat with Ethan and talked, disappeared almost instantly. This time it was his turn to look into the amber liquid that filled the glass tumbler before him. Shepard sighed, his gaze boring into the alcohol. Ethan could clearly see the turmoil raging inside the Commander, like a storm that whips the sea up into frenzy, scattering ships and breaking them, spilling their crews into the water to face grim death. But that turmoil slowly dissipated, calm returning to the young Commander's face.

"I'm okay," He said, his head rising up and his gaze meeting Ethan's "Really."

"Is that what you think?" Ethan asked, his gaze unfaltering. "Or is that what Commander Shepard thinks?"

"Huh?" Came the confused he reply. '_Commander Shepard is ME!'_

"You're an excellent soldier Shepard. One reason for that, besides your ability to hit a target at any range and your natural born leadership, is your ability to keep your emotions bottled up. Never let them affect the mission." Taking a sip of the amber liquor he pointed at Shepard with the tumbler still in hand. "That isn't healthy."

"Oh? You been talking to Kelly?" That got a small smile from Ethan _"Why the smile?...OH. I see." _"Or is psychology also one of your talents?"

"I have had _several_ discussions with Yeoman Chambers." Ethan replied, his smile answering the unasked question. "Some of which have touched upon her speciality." Ethan's smile vanished and his eyes grew cold. "And you're blocking."

"What do you want me to do?" Shepard yelled, surging to his feet, the glass forgotten on the table. Angrily, he began pacing up and down. "Break down? Collapse into the foetal position and cry like some teenager that just got dumped before the high school dance?"

"Well despite the fact you probably never went to a high school dance, no." Ethan replied, flippant in his tone. "Unless of course, you want to?"

"Like hell I do!" Shepard was really angry now. "Ash and me? We're done!" He said, angrily cutting across the air with his hands, as if physically cutting away their relationship. Finally he sat back down again, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "We're…we're done." Finally his eyes met Ethan's again and Ethan could see the slight mixture of sorrow and confusion those brown eyes held.

"It's been two years for her, I get that. I understand that and I don't begrudge her a thing. But for me? …For me it's only been a little over a month. A month. Can you imagine what that feels like?" Reaching out with his right hand, he took a gulp of Fire, not even noticing the burning sensation coursing down his throat.

"I can't. I'm sorry." Ethan replied, his tone conveying the truthfulness of the statement.

"It's fine." Shepard said, waving away the apology. "I'll be fine." And it was the truth; even now it felt as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders. Looking over at Ethan, he smiled. "Thanks for listening, Ethan." Then he drained his glass, wincing slightly as the liquid practically stripped the back of his throat. "And thanks for the drink." He wheezed.

"Don't mention it." Came the reply, with a smile, as Shepard got to his feet.

"Oh," Shepard exclaimed, turning to the younger man. "Sorry about your coat, I know…it…had." His voice trailed off as Ethan stood up and opened another storage locker, out of which he pulled an identical trenchcoat to the one that had bought it down on Horizon.

"What?" Ethan said in response to Shepard's bemused expression. "You honestly believe that I don't have spares? The original was destroyed during my time protecting Hararn. Got set on fire when me and a few other bodyguards got involved in a bar-fight, some stupid bastard figured a Molotov cocktail would be a good weapon. Suppose that's what you get when you get in a bar-fight where everybody has military training."

"See ya Ethan." Shepard said, shaking his head and smiling, before turning to leave. However Ethan's voice checked his step.

"Shepard?" He called.

"Yeah?" Shepard asked, turning back to face the young mercenary, who was standing by his desk and now held a datapad in his hands.

"One of the 'useless' space probes whose signal we picked up? It was called Voyager-1." The young man's voice was heavy with emotion "Among its various 'Greetings from Humanity' was the song _'Dark Was The Night, Cold Was The Ground.' _ by 1920's bluesman Blind Willie Johnson, whose stepmother blinded him at seven by throwing lye in his eyes after his father beat her for being with another man." He sat back down behind the desk, putting his feet back on the top of it. "He died, penniless, of pneumonia after sleeping on a wet mattress, wrapped in newspapers, among the ruins of his burnt out house but his music just got picked up in a whole other solar system." At that he dropped the datapad, spreading his arms wide. "If that doesn't give those old space probes something, I don't know what does."

Shepard couldn't help but admit that Ethan had a point. Something about the music of a man, who had suffered such hardships and died with nothing, reaching ears millions of miles away from Earth, almost two centuries later, was somewhat…_inspirational_.

"You've got a point Ethan, seeya." He made to move again but Ethan called out to him again.

"Shepard?"

"Yes Ethan?"

"We all have our own demons. Don't think you can't talk about them."

"Thanks Ethan." The Commander replied, nodding a goodbye to the young mercenary.

"And besides," Ethan called out before the door closed "If you repress everything and die of a brain aneurysm, who's going to pay me?"

As Shepard strode from the newly renovated Storage Room, he couldn't help but smile a true, genuine smile. A weight had been lifted; he didn't feel as closed in on himself as he had before he'd walked into the Storage Room. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the talking that had done it and the truth be told, he didn't really care.

* * *

><p>17:00 found Garrus inside the forward batteries, as practically every hour of the day did. The main guns had been calibrated several times and he was confident that they'd serve if they were attacked. With nothing else to do, having eaten already, he sat down with his back to a box of ammunition and slowly let his lids close, ready for the usual battle with his subconscious.<p>

_It's Omega again, the darkness, the filth. The biggest hive of depravity in the galaxy. He's running, the streets of the Kahura district. Even if he hadn't had this dream for every night for the past few weeks he'd know where it was, the work yard owned by Yaruk the Batarian is to his left. He'd chatted to one of the workers, a Salarian named Garin. Turned out that everything had been above board, within the standards of Omega. Powering on, he approached the warehouse Lantar had told him to meet him at, according to him there was a deal about to go down, Red Sand, nothing huge, nothing that wouldn't require just the two of them._

_He arrives. Nobody's outside. Lantar's a good infiltrator, drafted into Turian Special Forces after Boot Camp. He might be inside. He knows he won't be, but he has no choice. He goes inside. Nothing. Nobody's there. He calls out for Lantar, using the codename he's given him: "Arcarnus", the ancient term for an advanced scout, the precursors to the Rangers, the highest level in S.F. He receives no answer. Anxious now he runs over to one of the boxes. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, he rips the top off it with naught but brute force. Nothing but salvage. He's been set up._

_He's back at base, rushing across the bridge. His stomach is wrapping itself in knots as he sees the bullet holes lining the front wall. Rushing inside he beholds the sight that haunts him even while waking. His team lies dead around him. Reldus, Turian, Breaching Specialist. A pool of his own blood surrounds him. Half of his left arm is blown off, as is part of his right foot and his ribs are splayed to the open air. Close range shotgun blast. Varuk, hacking expert, Batarian. There's a tiny hole in the front of his throat, but the entire back of it is gone. Sniper round. And his eyes have been torn out with a knife. Deliberate, post death infliction. Reia. Asari. Biotic, naturally. Raped, then shot in the head. Same deal with Akura, Turian, Sniper. Lakin, Salarian. Shot through heart and throat. Huren, Salarian, Tech Specialist. Fingers broken then forehead blasted open with a shotgun. Reok and Jiral, Turian and Salarian, both barely alive, blood pumping from throats that had been slashed open. _

_Then the shots begin again as the trap closes. _

"No!" Garrus yelled reflexively as he jolted awake. His head in his hands, he exhaled, trying to equalise his breathing rate. He hated this feeling of weakness. This feeling of powerlessness. However this hatred was directed towards the man that had caused them.

"Sidonis." He growled, his fists clenching and unclenching. His second in command, his brother in arms. He'd been the first man to join him in his crusade against the filth that coated Omega. He'd been the most earnest to help the poor and helpless. And he'd betrayed him, all of the team. If he ever found him, no C-Sec Officer, Council Spectre nor even the Impertorex would stop him.

"_Control yourself!" _The voice of his father, rich, deep and gravelly, sounded in his head. _"Anger is a fire. It warms you but if you let it will engulf you." _

The words were from an earlier time, the time when he and his father had the semblance of a relationship. He'd spoken those words to him during the weeks leading up to his sixteenth birthday, as he had prepared for Boot Camp. They'd been training in the central courtyard back home on Palaven. His father was a master of the traditional Turian style, his kicks were lighting fast and his punches hit like a hammer. His own defense was strong but every so often one of his father's strikes would get through and slowly his anger had built until eventually he'd just snapped and vanished into an attack, not caring about defense. His father had simply stepped aside from his frenzied attack and brought him down with a heel kick to the back of the knee, before pinning him down with a forearm clamped across his neck.

There relationship had gone south soon after that. After Boot Camp he'd specialised in Special Forces, which had angered his father, who had specialised in CID, like his father had and his father before him. He'd accused him of not even trying to follow in his footsteps and he'd argued back, saying that he wanted to be his own man. Their relations revived slightly when he'd joined C-Sec after his first tour but it practically immediately cooled when he'd begun bypassing the bureaucratic red-tape that his father championed. Then each had essentially disavowed the other when his father had blocked his Spectre candidacy.

"_Futok."_ Garrus cursed under his breath, at which his stomach pinged with hunger. In response to his body's warning he stood up and crossed to the storage chest he kept in a small alcove by the main cannon arrays.

Inside it there was a few off-duty clothes, some vid-discs his sister Solana had sent over to him just before he'd left for Omega and that he'd never got around to watching, as well as some spare weapon parts and, thankfully, two remaining Dextro MREs, both of which could be eaten cold. Ever since the chalsae incident he'd not been willing to trust Gardner with his food. It was unreasonable to an extent but he'd be screwed if he lost half of his remaining supplies and he was damned if he were going to invade what counted as the balding chef's territory.

Stepping out into the mess hall, which was practically empty, he nodded amicably at Gardner, who was attacking one of the sinks with a plunger. Just because he didn't trust him with his food didn't mean he had to be uncivil. The old Cerberus chef/handyman nodded back in reply, before renewing his assault on whatever was blocking the sink's pipes, cursing under his breath.

As he passed by the med-bay windows he raised a hand in greetings to Dr Chakwas, who returned his gesture before going back to reading medical reports. He liked the Doctor, she'd been part of the team during the hunt for Saren, he mentally spat at the rogue Spectre's name, and had treated him for injuries received in the chase. She'd also been the one responsible for, quite literally, putting him back together after he'd been brought back from Omega. His jaw twinged slightly, almost in response to the thought, and he put a hand to the pressure bandage that encapsulated most of the right side of his face. Beneath the white fabric part of his facial scales had been literally ripped away by the missile. The skin beneath was raw red and scorched and the exposed parts on his lower mandible occasionally throbbed with pain if he was in a cold environment. Chakwas said it would heal, but there'd be scars. The idea of scars wasn't what angered him, he had his fair share already, but it was the idea that they didn't need to be there. And who was responsible?

_Sidonis._

He shook his head, banishing the rising tide of black anger. There was nothing he could do here. He had to wait until one of his information broker contacts came through for him with a lead. But still the spectre of vengeance remained, broiling and dark, just outside of his conscious thought processes.

Sitting down at one of the smaller mess tables, he opened the MRE. Tearing open the foil of the largest packet he looked down at the container, in which was a selection of _Buros_, a domesticated grazing animal, similar to the Terran cow, cold cuts, which had a slight crust running along the edge of it, formed of a mixture of finely diced _Hurox_ herbs. Opening the secondary foil packet, he took out the container of _Pluma_, small tough grain wafers that were the staple of a Turian military meal. As he opened the third and smallest of the foil packets, which contained fragrant _Yorel _leaves, Gardner came over and deposited a steaming cup in front of him.

"Instant _Calrem_." He said, the name of Turian hot drink akin to Coffee sounding odd coming from his mouth. "All I had to do was add hot water. No chance of burning it."

"Thanks Gardner." Garrus replied, nodding his thanks, but then he paused as he remembered the ship scuttlebutt. "You washed your hands I take it?"

Expecting a hurt or insulting reply, Garrus was astounded when Gardner simply threw back his head and laughed a deep, booming laugh.

"You heard about that?" Garrus nodded in reply. "I did, don't worry. Well, mostly. See ya Vakarian." and with that the Mess Officer turned and walked back to the galley.

As he started eating, he noticed Farrows and Shepard's Yeoman sit down at a far table, cups of coffee in their hands. They began talking but even if he'd wanted to listen in they were too far away. As Ethan took a sip from his coffee he noticed him. Putting his mug down Ethan raised a hand in greeting, which he returned. All things considered he liked the young mercenary. He was dependable in battle, if a tad reckless, and didn't seem to hold any biases. As he continued on eating the meat, which had an added bite to it thanks to the _Hurox_ herb crust, the small corner of his mind that still held the thought processes of a C-Sec investigator wondered what the Mercenary and the Yeoman were talking about.

* * *

><p>"Really?" Ethan chuckled, his blue eyes alight with happiness. "Well that explains a bit. What else do you enjoy?" He took a sip of strong black coffee as Kelly replied.<p>

"Well," She paused then, gathering her thoughts. "I am fond of musicals. Especially the recent influx of cross species productions. Seeing how other races take on productions from cultures so different from their own, it's really interesting. The Turian performance of _Les Miserables_ was extraordinary."

"You mean the one with Allatus Saikar playing Valjean?" Kelly's eyebrows raised in surprise as she too took a sip of her own.

"Yes, you know it?" She asked incredulously, somehow she just couldn't have seen the bold, slightly cocky, young mercenary being the type to go to the theatre.

"Are you kidding? I was brought up with the stuff! Les Mis, Sunset Boulevard, all the classics." He leaned in conspiratorially, his eyes boring into hers. "I even sat through an entire showing of Kitt's Elcor Hamlet." He neglected to mention that it had been purely an exercise in mental strength. Many of the audience had practically run out screaming after the first act.

"Really? An entire showing?" Ethan nodded, and then a similar conspiratorial look came to Kelly's face. "What does a female Elcor look like?"

"Surprisingly like a male one." Ethan replied, leaning back in his chair again. "Just with shorter legs." He paused then, his head tilting to one side and his eyes taking on a far-away look. "Then again they could've been keeping to Shakespearian values and they were all male. Meaning that Elcor was a midget in make-up." That got a laugh out of Kelly as a hilarious mental image appeared. Her laughter was a joy to listen to, cool and clear like fresh snow-melt. "A midget with a surprisingly high voice." That only provoked more laughing.

"You're a bad man Ethan Farrows." Kelly replied, wiping her eyes slightly.

"Well you know what they say about women and bad boys." Ethan replied, the words passing by his teeth before he could stop them.

To her credit Kelly barely blinked. "That's a dirty stereotype Ethan." She replied, her voice carrying a small amount of reproof, but then shrugged slightly. "Albeit I fall into that category, but it's still a bad a stereotype."

"Oh really Miss Chambers?" Ethan asked, leaning forward with an eyebrow raised and his voice practically a growl. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Kelly replied, moving closer as well. "It is."

Before anything could happen however, Kelly's omnitool messenger service went off.

"What the?"' Kelly exclaimed as she sat back in her chair, Ethan doing the same. Irritated, she pulled up her message inbox, determined to find out what was so important. However when she did so she couldn't help but laugh.

"What is it?" Ethan asked, curiosity overriding his annoyance.

"You know how I told you about my sister?"

"Rachel?" Ethan asked, remembering their earlier conversation. "The one that runs a Dog Sanctuary?"

"Yeah, her." Kelly replied. "She just sent me an advertisement for a new cross-species musical that's coming out. I think you and Garrus will find it interesting. It's a modern retelling of The Phantom of The Opera." Turning her arm, she enlarged the image she'd received and made it visible to Ethan.

It turned out that taking a drink of coffee was a bad move for Ethan as he practically choked when he saw the poster. Emblazoned at the left hand side in large white letters were the words "The Angel of Omega" and, in smaller letters below it, "A Retelling Of The Classic Terran Musical" however that was not what drew his attention. On the right side of the poster was a young Asari, dressed in the outfit of an Afterlife dancer, who was stood in front of the titular character and it was this character that drew his attention. It was a Turian and he was dressed entirely in black, which befitted the original character, save for the fact that it was black armor. Also added to the costume was a hood, under which was the traditional half-mask. The half-mask itself had been altered as well, it had been made metallic and the eye-hole glowed blue with a holographic interface. It was if someone had blended his and Garrus' outfits together.

"That's-" He spluttered.

"Yep." Kelly replied, reading the question whilst Ethan tried to take a breath.

"And-" He continued, his voice a wheezing rasp.

"Yep."

A coughing fit racked him as he struggled to clear his airway but he made his point by interlocking his fingers together.

"Yep." Kelly answered, grasping the idea. As the hacking continued she became slightly worried that the young man was about to keel over. "Are you alright?"

Finally Ethan cleared his airways, coughing up the few droplets of coffee that had caused the problem. In lieu of replying vocally, he gave a thumbs up, signifying his well-being.

Scrolling down, Kelly showed him the show's premise.

_"A classic Terran musical brought forward into the 22nd Century!_

_The young Asari Ciala is a dancer at the infamous Afterlife nightclub; there she hopes to become the best showgirl on Omega. Little known to her, her talent manages to grasp the attention and affection of The Angel, a scarred, but brilliant, recluse who lives in the tunnels of the old mines. Determined to help her succeed, he begins to engineer events to bring her to the fore but when Ciala's childhood friend shows up and vies for her affections things take a dramatic and shocking turn."_

Finally he got his voice back. "I'm fine. I'm fine." he assured her, before casting a suspicious glance at the Musical's advertisement. "Let me guess, Francis Kitt is behind _this_."

Kelly scrolled down a bit more. "Correct." she replied and true enough, in the credits listing, was Francis Kitt's name.

"Scripting and original idea by," Ethan read out loud. " Anonymous?" he thought for a moment, it had to be someone who had known both him and Garrus, either by sight or by reputation, and there were few who fit that bill. After a few seconds he gave up. Unless Mordin had taken to writing musicals in his spare time he couldn't think of anyone.

"I wish I could see it." Kelly said wistfully, closing her omnitool down as she did so. "Being on Cerberus' most important mission doesn't give you much time for social time."

Ethan opened his mouth to speak but before he could someone whistling distracted both of them. Turning to the right they watched as Ken Donnelly strode through the mess hall, whistling a jaunty tune.

"Wonder what he's so happy about." Ethan said aloud. He'd chatted to Donnelly on occasion, mostly whenever they just happened to be sharing an elevator. Nothing serious, just introductions, various bits on inane chatter and so on. The Scot was likeable enough, in his way.

"Knowing Ken," Kelly replied, using her knowledge of the Scotsman's dealing, which were common knowledge in the Crew Quarters. "I'd say he just finished fleecing Gabby at Skyllian Five."

"Really?" Ethan asked, stroking his jawline in a Machiavellian fashion. Then a shocked look came to his blue eyes, which was accompanied by his eyebrows shooting upwards.

"What is it?" Kelly asked, wondering what had caused the sudden look of alarm.

"I really, and I mean really, need to shave." Ethan answered, humour coming back into his eyes.

"You're terrible!" Kelly exclaimed softly, whilst stifling a small chuckle.

"Is that so?" Ethan asked, for the second time that evening. However at that point Kenneth's whistling increased to an unbearable level of sound. Looking past Kelly, he called over to the happy Scot, who was eating an apple and looking over some personal mail. "Hey Donnelly, could you keep it down? Much as I like that piece, I don't particularly want to listen to it right now."

"Sorry!" The Scotsman called back, before momentarily pausing as he noticed who Ethan was sitting with.

_"Oh great."_ Kelly though to herself. _"I'm never going to hear the end of this."_ Then she looked again at the man opposite her, with his warm eyes and quick smile. _"Totally worth it."_ she thought, a private smile on her own face.

However at that point she caught sight of the time. It was 19:35. That meant that she only had ten minutes before she needed to be back on shift. And she still had to write Rachel and her mother a letter about the musical.

"Damn." She cursed under her breath, getting out of her seat.

"Something up Kelly?" Ethan asked, getting up as well.

"Sorry Ethan," She said, her tone genuine. "I've got ten minutes left 'til my next shift and I need to send a message home."

"Sure, no problem." He replied, before bowing in an exaggerated manner and speaking in a typical upper-class accent. "May I escort the young lady to her quarters?"

"You most certainly may." Kelly answered, giggling slightly.

Walking over to the galley, they put their cups on the counter. Gardner was still busy trying to free a blockage in the sink, but he nodded a goodbye to them before returning to his task as they walked off. It didn't take them long to reach the Crew Quarters, where, from within, muted conversation could be heard.

"Ethan." Kelly called to him as he headed towards the elevator.

"Yes Kelly?" He asked, turning back to face her.

"I...I really enjoyed talking to you this evening." she said, stepping away from the door and towards him.

"And I to you." Ethan replied taking a step towards her.

As they stood there in the corridor, Ethan was the one to make the first move. Tilting Kelly's face upwards towards his, one finger crooked under her chin, he gave her a soft, tender kiss on the mouth. It was only a brief kiss and when he pulled back the normally confident young man was slightly racked with embarrassment.

"Uh...yeah." He said, one hand on the back of his head. "Sorry about that. Hope I didn't read that situation the wrong way, please say I didn't."

Instead of replying Kelly simply returned his kiss. This time though it was deeper, more passionate. They stood there in that corridor, not even caring that someone could quite easily happen upon them. Their tongues intermingled in their mouths, dancing over one another; each drank in the smell of the other. Kelly ran her fingers through his golden locks whilst he pulled her tighter to him, not wanting to let the moment, this beautiful moment, end. The warmth of that moment was insurmountable, to Ethan it was like no other kiss he'd ever had. It was if tiny electrodes were firing all across his body. To Kelly it was a kiss of passion, of blissful acceptance. A kiss of welcoming this funny, handsome, caring man, who had stood up for her against even the likes of Commander Shepard, into her life. She returned the fervour he showed with interest, but eventually, both wishing they didn't have to separate, she pulled away slightly, but not before planting another, lighter, but by no means less tender, kiss upon his mouth, almost as a signature to the greater work.

"Does that answer your question?" she asked him, still gazing into his eyes, which danced with light like when the sun shines upon the ocean, reflecting dazzlingly off the deep blue water.

"Yes." came the husky reply. Then he mentally shook himself. "Yes." this time the reply was stronger, but no less tender.

"Good evening Ethan." she said warmly, stepping away completely.

"Good evening Kelly." Echoed the reply.

Finally they each tore away from the other. As Kelly walked into the Crew Quarters, her spirits soaring, Ethan strode into the elevator. Each gave the other one last warm look before the Crew Quarters' door slid shut, cutting off their view. With a feeling of utter contentment nestled in his chest, Ethan leaned against the side of the elevator, lost in thought, before remembering to press the button for the cargo bay.

Before the door slid shut, however, Ken darted between the ever narrowing gap. Nodding his thanks, despite the fact Ethan hadn't and couldn't have done anything, he pressed the button for the fourth floor as well. As the elevator descended, causing only the merest breath if sound, Ethan mentally shook himself again and turned to face the Scot.

"I hear tell you're quite the mean Skyllian Five player, Donnelly." He said, amicably.

"Oh aye?" Ken replied, assessing the young man afresh, seeing him as a competitor.

"Don't suppose I could join you for the next game?" Ethan asked, meeting the Scotsman's gaze. "I'm no pro but I reckon I could give you a run for some credits."

Ken considered the idea. To tell the truth just continuously taking money off Gabby, his fellow engineer, was, whilst enjoyable to see the look on her face, getting a bit old. Maybe it was time for some 'new meat'. "Alright Farrows." he said, an impish grin on his face as he stepped off into engineering. "I'll let you know when a new game's gonna start."

"Thanks Ken." Ethan replied, a fiendish grin of his own spreading across his features as the elevator doors closed again.

* * *

><p>Whilst the crew went about their daily shifts below, Shepard sat in the 'office' portion of his quarters, hunched over his terminal, a pot of Gardner's finest coffee, which was fast becoming the lifeblood of the ship, beside him. The 'day' was wearing on and he was reviewing the e-mails Hudgens, who worked shifts with Kelly as his yeoman, had sent up to him. As he scanned the various messages, which, as usual, were mostly spam or relatively unimportant, he stretched out a hand to pick up his mug. However his hand froze in mid-grab as he saw the comm code on one of the messages. His heart beating out a flamenco rhythm, he opened the message. It was brief, military and chastising. All of which he'd come to expect from the sender over the years.<p>

_From: Mom_

_So I have to find out my child is alive third-hand from the Alliance brass? Where the hell have you been?_

_I figure whatever you're doing is classified, likely part of your Spectre Operations. Just stay safe out there, and keep doing your mom proud. And sneak something through a secure channel next time._

_Love,_

_Your mother, Captain Hannah Shepard, SSV Orizaba _

The message achieved its intended effect. A feeling of guilt settled on him, momentarily, as he realised that he had at no point let his own mother, the only family he had left, know he was still alive. His mind racing to find the words, he wrote a reply, checked it over again to look for any mistakes or stupidity and sent it off.

_From: John_

_Sorry about that. I intended to write but time got away from me. Yes I am working a covert op, trying to track down and stop the cause of these Colony attacks. It means I've had to get into bed with an organisation I'd rather not have, I know you won't approve if you heard it but if you do find out, know that I'm doing it for the right reasons._

_Love,_

_Your son, Lieutenant Commander Jonathan Shepard, Normandy SR-2 _

Sighing slightly, Shepard leant back in his chair and just stared at the console for a while but before his mind could wander too much the inbox light blinked again. Opening the reply, he perused its contents, upon doing so he breathed a sigh of relief.

_From: Mom_

_Silly boy. I'm your mother, remember? You always do things for the right reasons. Just be careful how long you stay in bed with these people._

_Keep safe dear and now I must be off. Being Captain of the 5__th__ Fleet's flagship isn't a quiet role._

_Mom_

Closing down that set of messages, Shepard resumed his reviewing. A set of messages drew his immediate attention, all three were marked Priority 1, sent direct by The Illusive Man himself. Examining them closer he ascertained that they were all Dossiers for prospective squadmates. Out of the three there one grabbed his attention and made his heart skip a beat. Opening it, he confirmed to himself that he wasn't seeing things.

_Tali'Zorah vas Neema_

_-Expert in combat tech, systems hacking_

_-Strong engineering background, familiar with Normandy_

_Formerly listed as Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, the Quarian engineer earned her adult name after helping Shepard defeat Saren two years ago. Tali is currently on a classified assignment for the Migrant Fleet Admiralty Board on Haestrom, deep in Geth-controlled space._

Shepard's mind was instantly awash with memories of the Quarian Engineer, with her infectiously happy personality, encyclopaedic knowledge of engines and other such things as well as a proficient skill with shotguns. He remembered finding the naïve young Quarian aboard the Citadel, rescuing her from a gang of thugs who were about to murder her for the incriminating information she had on Saren, allowing to join his team. She'd stood by him through thick and thin, through the best and the worst of the hunt for the rogue Spectre. They'd grown close, become friends. It had been a rare situation if she'd been unable to cheer him up. She'd been one of the first people who'd helped him get over leaving Kaidan behind and she'd been frontline with him on the last desperate chase through the conduit.

Then, cutting through the nostalgia, came the words '_deep in Geth-controlled space' _again. It wouldn't be long before she was discovered and he'd be damned if she went up against those synthetic bastards without aid. Immediately he keyed up the Comm-code for the cockpit, Joker's natural habitat.

"Joker!" He began, raising his voice so as to wake a possibly sleeping pilot.

"Yes Commander?" The groggy sound in the reply confirmed his suspicions.

"Plot in a course for Haestrom, now." The commanding tone of his snapped Joker out of his sleepy reverie.

"Aye aye Commander." Came the clipped response and Shepard felt the slight rush of vertigo as the ship reacted to the change in course.

"_Stay safe Tali." _Shepard thought to himself, trying to keep calm._ "I'll be there soon."_

* * *

><p>Meanwhile the Salarian professor was hard at work. He'd already done a full analysis of the Husk viscera and the results had been astounding. Synthetic compounds had overtaken all of the natural biological components. Bones replaced by nano-carbon steel tubing, skin replaced by stronger synthetic mesh, organs removed. Every part of his mind was railing against this. It was abhorrent, wrong, obscene. A perversion of science. Before he had seen the Collectors as something to be overcome, like every opposition. But now he was certain in his convictions, whatever had done this had to be destroyed, for the good of all.<p>

The subtle shift in the ship's kinetic dampeners did not go unnoticed by the Salarian.

"_Ship changing course." _The Salarian deduced as he pored over his diagnostic machines, his mind running at its normal rate that would nigh impossible for any other species to emulate. _"Shepard has plotted new course. High chance of ground team deployment. Will need to return Kopis to Specialist Farrows. Integral part of arsenal. Deploying without it, unwise."_

At that point one of the tests he'd been running finished. Turning towards the relevant terminal he saw that the metallurgical analysis had finished. Hand dancing over the screen he viewed the results. What he saw made his eyes narrow.

"_Interesting…very interesting."_

**Author's Note: The song Ethan was listening to when Shepard walked in was 'Can't Take Me' by Bryan Adams, a great song I essentially see as Ethan's Theme-song. As always, I appreciate any feedback you're willing to give. **


	9. IMPORTANT NOTICE

**IMPORTANT NOTICE: THE GUARDIAN IS UNDER INDETERMINATE HIATUS; DO NOT EXPECT ANYTHING IN THE NEAR FUTURE.**

**ANIMATEMPLI101**


End file.
